iiTL.  c   rU'J'Jr    y//^/^//.'  //- 


c/?U'i'&?'yU^  y<^  ^Qa/^?y^l^ 


Epochs  of  Ancient  History. 

EDITED    BY  THE 

Rev.  Sir  GEORGE  WILLIAM  COX,  Bart.  M.A.  late 
Scholar  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford ; 

AND   JOINTLY   BY 

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The  GRACCHI,  MARIUS,  and  SULLA.     By  A.  H. 

Beesly,  M.A.  Assistant-Master,  Marlborough  College.   With  2  Maps, 

The  EARLY  ROMAN  EMPIRE.  From  the  Assassina- 
tion  of  Julius  C>esar  to  the  Assassination  of  Domitian.  By  the  Rev. 
W.  Wolfe  Capes,  M.A.    With  2  Coloured  Maps. 

The  ROMAN  EMPIRE  of  the  SECOND  CENTURY, 

or  the  AGE  of  the  ANTONINES.     By  the  Rev.  W.  Wolfe  Capes, 
M.A.     With  2  Coloured  Maps. 

The   ATHENIAN    EMPIRE   from   the    FLIGHT  of 

XERXES  to  the  FALL  of  ATHENS.     By  the  Rev.  Sir  G.  W.  Cox, 
Bart.  M.A.  Joint-Editor  of  the  Series.  With  5  Maps. 

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ROME  to  its  CAPTURE  by  the  GAULS.   By  Wilhelm 

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The  ROMAN  TRIUMVIRATES.  By  the  Very  Rev. 
Charles  Mekivale,  D.D.  late  Dean  of  Ely.     With  a  Coloured  Map. 

The  SPARTAN  and  THEBAN  SUPREMACIES.     By 

Charles  Sankey,  M.A.  Joint-Edito     -  •     ~    • 
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Charles  Sankey,  M.A.  Joint-Editor  of  the  Series,  Assistant-Master 
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LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

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THE  NORMANS  IN  EUROPE.  By  the  Rev.  A.  H.  Johnson,  M.A. 
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Gardiner,  D.C.L.,  LL.D.     With  a  Map. 
THE   ENGLISH    RESTORATION  AND    LOUIS   XIV.,   1648- 

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THE  FALL  OF  THE  STUARTS;  and  WESTERN  EUROPE 

from  1678  to  1697.      By  the  Rev.  Edward  Hale,  M.A.     With  11 
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M.P.  

LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

LONDON,  NEW  YORK,  AND  BOMBAY. 


Epochs  of  Ancient  History 

EDITED    BY 

Rev.  sir  G.  W.   COX,  Bart.  M.A.  and  C.  SANKEY,  M.A 


The  ROMAN  EMPIRE  of  the  SECOND  CENTURY 


W.  W.  CAPES,  M.A. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

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littp://www.archive.org/details/antoninesageOOcapericli 


EPOCHS   OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY 


THE    ROMAN    EMPIRE 

OF   THE 

SECOND    CENTURY 


THE    AGE    OF    THE    ANTONINES 


BY 

W.  W.  CAPES,  M.A. 

LATE  Fellow  and  tutor  of  queen's  college 


WITH    TWO    MAPS 


SEVENTH  EDITION 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

39    PATERNOSTER    ROW,.  LONDON 
NEW   YORK  AND   BO  WAY  i    '" 

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^ //   rights   reserved 


HENRV  MOPSE  ?TEPHEJI8 


.       Pvnte^  fy  ^ALLANTYNR,    HaNSON    &    Cc 

•  •     •   **•  2t  ihe  Ballantyne  Press 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

NERVA.— A.D.  96-98. 

PA6II 

Nerva  raised  to  the  throne  by  the  murderers  of  Domitian  .  1 
Treats  the  agents  of  past  tyranny  with  forbearance,  though 

Pliny  and  others  cried  for  vengeance       ....  3 

Nerva's  measures  for  the  poorer  citizens  ....  4 

The  mutiny  on  the  Danube  appeased  by  Dion  Chrysostom  5 
The  violence  of  the  praetorians  caused  the  Emperor  to  choose 

Trajan  as  his  colleague  and  successor,  A.D.  97        .        .  6 

Deathof  Nerva,  A.D.  98 7 


CHAPTER   II. 

TRAJAN. — A.D.    97-II7. 


Trajan  avenges  the  outrage  done  to  Nerva 

After  a  year's  delay  enters  Rome  without  parade 

The  simple  bearing  of  his  wife  Plotina    .... 

His  respect  for  constitutional  forms 

His  frank  covirtesy  and  fearless  confidence 

His  thrift  and  moderation  excite  the  surprise  of  Plmy . 

His  economy  could  save  little  except  in  personal  expenditure 

Large  outlay  on  roads,  bridges,  ports  and  aqueducts,  baths 

and  theatres 

The  charitable  endowments  for  poor  children 
Which  lead  others  to  act  in  a  like  spirit 
Trajan's  policy  with  regard  to  the  corn  trade  - 


VI  Contents. 


PAGE 


His  treatment  of  provincial  interests  as  shown  in  the  corre- 
spondence with  Pliny,  A.D.  111-113         ....  22 
He  would  not  meddle  needlessly  or  centralize  too  fast     .         .  24 

His  war  policy    .         .         .         .• 25 

On  the  side  of  Germany  he  had  strengthened  the  frontier  with 

defensive  works 26 

The  rise  of  the  Dacian  kingdom  and  threats  of  Decebalus  .  27 

Trajan  declared  war  and  set  out,  A.D.  loi      ....  28 

1  he  course  of  the  campaign 29 

The  battle  of  Tapae,  advance  into  Transylvania,  and  Roman 

victories  bring  the  first  war  to  a  close.     A.D.  102         .         .  31 

F'eace  did  not  last  long 32 

Trajan's  preparations  and  bridge  of  stone  across  the  Danube .  33 
The  legions  converged  on   Dacia  and  crushed   the  enemy, 

A.D.  106 34 

The  country  was  colonized  and  garrisoned      •         •         •         •  35 
The   survival  of  Rome's  influence  in   the    Roumanian   lan- 
guage         36 

Trajan's  forum  and  triumphal  column     .         .         .         .         .  — 

The  conquest  of  Arabia 38 

War  declared  against  Parthia,  A.D.  113 40 

Trajan  arrives  at  Antioch,  and  marches  through  Armenia   .  41 

Parthamasiris  deposed  and  slain 43 

Submission  of  the  neighbouring  princes       ....  — 

The  great  earthquake  at  Antioch,  A.D.  115     ....  44 
Trajan  crossed  the  Tigris  and  carried  ali  before  him  as  far  as 

the  Persian  Gulf 45 

But  the  lately  conquered  countries  rose  in  his  rear,  and  he  was 

forced  to  retire 46 

His  death  at  Selinus,  and  character 47 

Taken  as  a  tjrpe  of  heathen  justice  in  legend  and  art       .         .  48 

CHAPTER   III. 

HADRIAN.— A.D.    II7-138. 

The  earlier  life  of  Hadrian  .......  49 

His  sudden  elevation  to  the  throne  caused  ugly  rumours  .  50 

His  policy  of  peace  accompanied  by  personal  hardihood  and 

regard  for  discipline 5a 


Contents.  vii 

PAGE 

He  travelled  constantly  through  the  provinces  •  •  •  S3 
We  hear  of  him  in  Britain,  Africa,  Asia  Minor,  and  in  Athens 

above  all 55 

And  in  Egypt 56 

The  death  and  apotheosis  of  Antinous         ....  57 

Hadrian's  interests  cosmopolitan  more  than  Roman  58 

The  levelling  influence  of  the  '  Perpetual  Edict,'  a.d.  132    .  59 

Hadrian's  frugality  and  good  finance      .         .         .         .         '  61 

The  dark  moods  and  caprices  attributed  to  him  ...  61 
His  suspicious  temper,  system  of  espionage,  and  jealousy  of 

brilliant  powers 63 

His  fickleness,  superstition,  and  variety  of  temper        .         .  64 

Reasons  for  mistrusting  these  accounts  of  ancient  authors      .  65 

His  villa  at  Tivoli •  66 

Struck  by  disease,  he  chose  Verus  as  successor,  A.  D.  135,  who 

died  soon  after 68 

Antoninus  was  adopted  in  his  place — 

Hadrian's  dying  agony,  and  fitful  moods  of  cruelty         .         .  69 

His  death  and  canonization         ......  70 

The  mausoleum  of  Hadrian — 

The  outbreak  in  Palestine  was  at  last  terribly  stamped  out  .  71 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ANTONINUS  PIUS.-  A.D.    138-161. 

The  reign  of  Antoninus  was  uneventful 73 

Why  called  Pius 74 

His  good-nature  was  free  from  weakness  •  •  •  •  75 
He  did  not  travel  abroad,    but  was  careful  of   provincial 

interests — 

Wars  were  needful  with  Moors,  Dacians,  and  Brigantes,  yet 

he  gained  more  by  diplomacy 76 

His  homely  life  at  Lorium ^^ 

His  easy  and  forgiving  temp>er 78 

Tender  care  of  his  adopted  son,  to  whom  he  left  the  Empire 

at  his  death 79 


viii  Contefits. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS. — A.D.    147-180. 

PACiK 

The  early  life  of  M.  Aurelius 80 

His  correspondence  with  Fronto,  his  old  tutor     ...  81 

His  conversion  from  rhetoric  to  philosophy     ....  8a 

The  jealousy  of  Fronto 83 

Offices  of  state  and  popular  favour  did  not  turn  the  head  of  the 

young  prince 84 

He  looked  to  the  Stoic  creed  for  guidance,  but  without  loss  of 

tenderness 85 

Fronto,  like  Faustina,  had  little  love  for  philosophers    ,        .  86 
On  the  death  of  Antoninus  M.  Aurelius  shared  his  power  with 

L.  Verus,  A.D.  161 87 

Ominous  prospects,  floods,  dangers  on  the  Euphrates    .        .  — 

Verus  starts  for  the  East,  where  the  soldiers  were  demoralized  89 
The  Parthians  were  humbled,  and  Verus  claimed  the  merit  of 

his  generals'  successes,  A.D.  166 90 

Fronto' s  courtly  panegyric 91 

M.  Aurelius  meantime  endows  charities  for  foundlings,  appoints 
juridici,  and  guardians  for  orphans,  and  works  unremit- 
tingly         93 

But  he  is  called  away  to  the  scene  of  war        ....  94 

The  fortune  of  the  Roman  arms  in  Britain  ....  95 
Both  Emperors  started  for  the  Danube,  where  the  border  races 

sued  for  peace 96 

The  ravages  of  the  plague,  A.D.  167-8                 ...  97 
The  war  begins  again,  but  is  checked  by  the  spread  of  the 

plague 98 

Verus  dies,  and  M.  Aurelius  rules  henceforth  alone,  A.D.  169  99 
The  long  and  arduous  struggle  on  the  Northern  frontier         .  100 
The    Marcomannic  war    followed  by  the  campaign  against 
the  Quadi,  in  which  we  read  of  the  marvel  of  the  '  Thunder- 
ing Legion ' 102 

The  revolt  of  Avidius  Cassius,  A.D,  175 103 

Contempt  expressed  by  him  for  the  Emperor  as  a  ruler       .  105 

The  sjjeedy  failure  of  the  insurrection 106 

The  Emperor  showed  no  vindictive  feeling  .                 .  \qq 


Contents.  ix 

I'AGE 

He  went  to  restore  order  in  the  East,  and  Faustina  died  on 

the  way io8 

His  short  rest  at  Rome,  and  endowments  in  memory  of  his 

wife 109 

Recalled   to   the  war  in   the   North,  he  died  at  Vienna  or 

Sirmium,  A.D.  180 — 

Grief  of  his  subjects,  and  monuments  in  his  honour             .  no 
His  '  Meditations '  reflect  his  habits  of  self-inquiry  and  grati- 
tude      112 

There  is  no  trace  in  them  of  morbid  vanity  or  self-contempt  it6 

He  tried  to  be  patient  and  cheerful  in  the  hard  work  of  life .  117 
Nor  was  he  too  ambitious  or  too  sanguine  in  his  aims    .        .119 

His  anticipations  of  Christian  feeling 120 

The  thought  of  a  Ruling  Providence  stirred  his  heart  with 

tenderness  and  love 122 

His  delicate  sympathy  with  Nature 123 

His  melancholy  and  sense  of  isolation 124 

The  austere  Stoic  creed  could  not  content  him    .  125 

The  contrast  of  the  contemporary  Christians  ....  126 

M.  Aurelius  was  unfortunate  in  his  son  C'ommodus     .         .  t26 
Was  he  also  in  his  wife  Faustina?    Reasons  for  doubting  the 

truth  of  the  common  story. 127 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  ATTITUDE  OF  THK   IMPERIAL  GOVERNMENT 
TOWARDS  THE   CHltlSTIANS. 

The  Christians  at  first  regarded  as  a  Jewish  sect,  and  not  dis- 
turbed      129 

In  the  time  of  Nero  we  trace  dislike  to  the  Christians  as  such      131 

They  were  regarded  as  unsocial  and  morose  fanatics,  accusefl 
of  impiety  and  of  foul  excesses 132 

Christianity  was  not  made  illegal  till  the  time  of  Trajan,  whose 
answer  to  Pliny  determined  the  law 135 

The  reasons  why  the  government  might  distrust  the  Christian 
Church 137 

Succeeding  Emperors  inclined  to  mercy,  but  the  popular  dis- 
like grew  more  intense 139 

The  rescripts  of  Hadrian  and  Antoninus  very  questionable     .     140 


X  Contents. 

PAGB 

The  martyrdom  of  Polycarp        ......  141 

The  persecution  at  Vienna  and  Lugdunum     ....  142 

Lucian's  account  of  Peregrinus  Proteus  reflects  some  noble 

features  of  the  early  Church,  A.D.  165      ....  144 

The  attack  of  Celsus,  A.D.  150,  was  answered  in  later  days    .  145 

The  line  of  argument  taken  by  the  Apologists  of  the  age     .  148 

The  life  of  Justin  Martyr 149 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  STATE  RELIGION,    AND 
OF  THE   RITES   IMPORTED   FROM  THE  EAST. 

The  Emperors  respected  the  old  forms  of  national  religion .  150 

The  Collegia  or  brotherhoods 151 

The  official  registers  of  the  Arval  Brothers,  containing  a  full 

description  of  their  ritual 152 

We  may  note  (i)  their  punctilious  regard  for  ancient  forms    .  154 

(2)  The  absence  of  moral  or  spiritual  influence      .         .  155 

{3)  The  loyalty  to  the  established  powers  of  state  .  .  156 
The  old  religion  was  cold  and  meagre,  and  supplemented  by 

exotic  creeds 157 

The  civil  power  only  feebly  opposed  the  new  rites,  which  were 

welcomed  by  devout  minds  like   Plutarch  and   Maximus 

Tyrius 159 

The  mystic  reveries  and  visions  of  Aristides  in  his  sickness, 

A.D.  144-161 160 

New  moods  of  ecstatic  feeling,  self-denial,  and  excitement,  and 

mystic  gloom  encouraged  by  Eastern  religions    .         .         .  i6i 

The  rite  of  the  tauroboUum 163 

The  new  comers  lived  in  peace  in  the  imperial  Pantheon         .  164 


CHAPTER  VIII, 

THE  LITERARY  CURRENTS  OF  THE  AGE. 

The  enthusiasm  for  learning,  but  want  of  creative  power     .  165 

The  culture  of  the  age  was  mainly  Greek  and  professorial  166 

The  various  classes  of  Sophists 167 

I.  Moralists  and  Philosophers 168 


Contents, 


XI 


Epictetus,  fl.  under  Trajan 
Dion  Chrysostom        ,. 
Plutarch  ,,         ,, 

Literary  artists  and  rhetoricians 
Fronto,  A.D.  90-168 
Polemon,  fl.  under  Hadrian     . 
Favorinus        ,,  ,, 

Herodes  Atticus,  A.D.101-177 
Apuleius,  fi.  under  M.  Aurelius 
Lucian  ,,  ,, 


PAGE 

170 

174 
177 
181 
182 
184 

18s 

188 
191 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   ADMINISTRATIVE   FORMS  OF  THE   IMPERIAL 
GOVERNMENT, 

The  Emperor  was  an  absolute  sovereign,  and  his  ministers 

wf.re  at  tirst  his  domestics,  afterwards  knipi;hts           .         .  194 

Tne     osi  miporianc  otticers  were,  (i;  a  rationibus  (treasurer) .  195 

2.  Ab  epistulis  (secretary) 196 

3.  A  libellis  (clerk  of  petitions) 196 

4.  A  cubiculo  (chamberlain) 197 

The  Privy  Council — 

The  Prsefect  of  the  city 198 

The  Proefect  of  the  Praetorian  Guard — 

The  provincial  governors  and  their  suite      ....  199 

Local  magistrates  and  local  freedom      .         .         .         .         .  200 

Few  guarantees  of  permanence 201 

The  municipalities  courted  interference 202 

The  governors  began  to  meddle  mor"                   .                 .  203 

The  Coesar  was  more  appealed  to                     ....  — 

The  actual  evils  of  a  later  age      ......  204 

r.  The  pressure  of  taxation,  moderate  at  first,   became 

more  and  more  intense 204 

2.  The  increase  of  bureaucracy  was  followed  by  oppressive 

restrictions  on  the  Civil  Service      ....  207 

3.  The  municipal  honours  became  onerous  charges          .  208 

4.  Trades  and  industries  became  hereditary  burdens    .  210 


INDEX 


ats 


ORIGINAL  AUTHORITIES. 


Scripiores  Historice  Attgusia. 

Dion  Cassius,  Hist.  Rom.     Xiphilini  Epit. 

Pliny,  Letters. 

Fronto,  Letters. 

Marcus  Antoninus,  quoted  commonly  in  the  transla- 
tion OF  G.  Long. 

EusEBius,  Eccl.  Hist. 

Piiilosostratus,  Vita  Sophistaiiim. 

Epictetus,  Manual  and  Dissert. 

Plutarch,  Moral  Treatises. 

LuciAN,  Works. 

Corpus  Inscriptionum  Latinarum. 


LIST   OF    MAPS. 

— — •Ot 

I.  Map  to  illustrate  the  Dacian  War     To  face  page    29 
11.  Map  to  illustrate  the  Parthian  War         ,,  41 


ROMAN  HISTORY. 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  ANTONINES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

NERVA.      A.D.  96-98. 

Before  the  murderers  of  Domitian  raised  their  handi 
to  strike  the  fatal  blow,  they  looked  around, 
we  read,  to  find  a  successor  to  replace  him.     rafse^tothe 
Others  whom  they  sounded   on   the  subject     throne  by 

•'  •*  the  murder- 

shrunk  away  in  fear  or  in  suspicion,  till  they  ers  of  Do- 
thought  of  M.  Cocceius  Nerva,  who  was  '""'^"' 
likely  to  fill  worthily  the  office  that  would  soon  be  vacant. 
Little  is  known  of  his  career  for  more  than  sixty  years, 
till  after  he  had  twice  been  consul,  and  when  his  work 
seemed  almost  done,  he  rose  for  a  little  while  to  take  the 
highest  place  on  earth.  The  tyrant  on  the  throne  had 
eyed  him  darkly,  had  banished  him  because  he  heard 
that  the  stars  pointed  in  his  case  to  the  signs  of  sovereign 
power,  and  indeed  only  spared  his  life  because  other 
dabblers  in  the  mystic  lore  said  that  he  was  fated  soon  to 
die.  The  sense  of  his  danger,  heightened  by  his  know- 
ledge of  the  plot,  made  Nerva  bold  when  others  flinched ; 
so  he  lent  the  conspirators  his  name,  and  rose  by  their 
help  to  the  imperial  seat.  He  had  dallied  with  th? 
Muses,  and  courted  poetry  in  earlier  years  ;  but  he  showed 

A.M.  B 


•  *•*   ^-fi^yi^e  of  the  Antonines. 


A.D. 


Inrf  .ciTeaJiiVSf  iims  ^^'s  ,ruier,  and  no  genius  for  heroic 
measures.  The  fancy*  or  the  sanguine  confidence  of 
youth  was  chequered  perhaps  by  waning  strength  and 
feeble  health,  or  more  probably  a  natural  kindliness  of 
temper  made  him  more  careful  of  his  people's  wants. 
After  the  long  nightmare  of  oppression  caused  by  the 
caprices  of  a  moody  despot,  Rome  woke  again  to  find 
herself  at  rest  under  a  sovereign  who  indulged  no 
wanton  fancies,  but  was  gentle  and  calm  and  unassuming, 
.  homely  in  his  personal  bearing,  and  thrifty 

gentle  mode-  with  the  coffers  of  the  state.  He  had  few 
ration.  expensive  tastes,  it  seemed,  and  Httle  love  for 

grand  parade,  refusing  commonly  the  proffered  statues 
and  gaudy  trappings  of  official  rank.  As  an  old  senator, 
he  felt  a  pride  in  the  dignity  of  the  august  assembly, 
consulted  it  in  all  concerns  of  moment,  and  pledged  him- 
self to  look  upon  its  members'  lives  as  sacred.  A  short 
while  since  and  they  were  cowering  before  Domitian's 
sullen  frown,  or  shut  up  in  the  senate  house  by  men-at- 
arms  while  the  noblest  of  their  number  were  dragged 
out  before  their  eyes  to  death.  But  now  they  had  an 
Emperor  who  treated  them  as  his  peers,  who  listened 
patiently  to  their  debates,  and  met  them  on  an  easy 
treating  footing  in  the  courtesies  ofsocial  life.    He  rose 

wfth  re-*^^  above  the  petty  jealousy  which  looks  askant  at 
spect,  brilliant  powers  or  great  historic  names,  and 

chose  even  as  his  colleague  in  the  consulship  the  old 
Verginius  Rufus,  in  whose  hands  once  lay  the  miperial 
power  had  he  only  cared  to  grasp  it.  Nor  was  he 
haunted  by  suspicious  fears,  such  as  sometimes  give  the 
timid  a  fierce  appetite  for  blood.  For  when  he  learr.t 
that  a  noble  of  old  family  had  formed  a  plot  against  his 
life,  he  took  no  steps  to  punish  him,  but  kept  him  close 
beside  him  in  his  train,  talked  to  him  at  the  theatre 
with  calm  composure,  and  even  handed  him  a  sword  to 


w, 


Nerva.  3 


try  its  edge  and  temper,  as  if  intent  to  prove  that  he  had 
no  mistrustful  or  revengeful  thought  ■ 

There  were  many  indeed  to  whom  he  seemed  too 
easy-going,  too  careless  of  the  memories  of  wrong-doing, 
to  satisfy  their  passionate  zeal  for  justice.  There  were 
those  who  had  seen  their  friends  or  kinsmen  hunted  to 
death  by  false  accusers,  who  thought  that  surely  now  at 
length  they  might  wreak  their  vengeance  on  the  tyrant's 
bloodhounds.  The  early  days  of  Nerva's  ^^^  ^^^ 
rule  seemed  to  flatter  all  their  hopes,  for  the  agents  of 
prison  doors  were  opened  to  let  the  innocent  mnny^with 
go  forth,  while  their  place  was  taken  by  spies  forbearance, 
and  perjurers  and  all  the  harpies  who  had  preyed  on 
noble  victims.  For  a  while  it  seemed  as  if  the  days  of 
retribution  were  at  hand,  but  the  Emperor's  gentle  temper, 
or  the  advice  of  wary  counsellors,  prevailed  ;  Nerva 
soon  stayed  his  hand,  and  would  not  have  the  first  pages 
of  his  annals  scored  in  characters  of  blood.  To  many, 
such  clemency  seemed  idle  weakness  ;  Pliny,  humane 
and  tender-hearted  as  he  was,  reflects  in  his  familiar 
letters  the  indignation  of  his  class,  and  sorely  though 
frets  to  think  of  the  great  criminals  who  othersTrfed 
flaunted  in  the  eyes  of  men  the  pride  of  their  for  ven- 
ill-gotten  wealth.  He  tells  with  a  malicious  Ep!Tv^"22.) 
glee  the  story  of  a  supper-party  in  the  palace,  where  the 
name  of  a  notorious  informer  happened  to  come  up,  and 
first  one  and  then  another  of  the  guests  told  tale  after 
tale  of  his  misdeeds,  till  the  Emperor  asked  at  last  what 
could  be  done  with  him  if  he  were  living  still.  Where- 
upon one  bolder  than  the  rest  replied, 'he  would  be  asked 
to  supper  with  us  here  to-night; '  and  indeed  close  beside 
Nerva  there  was  lolling  on  the  couch  an  infamous  pro- 
fessor of  the  same  black  art.  We  may  read,  too,  in  a 
letter  written  long  afterwards  to  a  young  friend,  how 
Pliny  came  forward  in  the  senate  to  laud  the  memory  ol 


4  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

the  great  Helvidius,  and  brand  with  infamy  the  wretch 
who  caused  his  death.  At  first  he  found 
^'  ^'  ^^'  scant  sympathy  from  those  who  heard  him. 
Some  troubled  with  a  guilty  conscience  tried  to  drown 
his  voice  in  clamour,  on  the  plea  that  no  notice  had  been 
given  of  his  motion  ;  some  begged  him  not  to  raise  the 
ghosts  of  worn-out  feuds,  but  to  let  them  rest  in  peace 
awhile  after  the  long  reign  of  terror.  Wary  friends,  too, 
•varned  him  to  be  cautious,  lest  he  should  make  himself 
a  mark  for  the  jealousy  of  future  rulers.  But  Pliny  was 
resolute  and  persevered.  The  consul,  who  acted  as 
Speaker  in  the  senate,  silenced  him  indeed  at  first,  but 
let  him  rise  at  length  in  his  own  turn,  and,  leaving  the 
subject  then  before  the  house,  speak  for  the  memory  of 
his  injured  friend,  till  the  full  stream  of  his  indignant 
eloquence  carried  the  listening  senators  along,  and  swept 
away  the  timid  protests  raised  for  the  accused.  The 
Emperor  stepped  in,  and  stayed  proceedings  in  the  senate ; 
but  the  orator  recalled  with  pride  in  later  years  the 
enthusiasm  which  his  vehemence  had  stirred,  and  felt  no 
throb  of  pity  in  his  kindly  heart  when  he  was  told  that 
the  wretched  man  whom  he  accused  was  haunted  soon 
after  in  his  dying  moments  by  his  own  stern  look  and 
passionate  words. 

But  Nerva  was  determined  to  let  the  veil  fall  on  the 
past.  He  raised  no  question  about  the  favours  and  the 
boons  of  earher  rulers,  but  respected  the  immunities  and 
dispensations  however  carelessly  bestowed. 

There  were  still  three  powers  that  must  be  reckoned 
Ncrva's  ^'^^     before     any    government     could     feel 

measures  securc — the  populace  of  Rome,  the  frontier 
poorer  citi-  legions,  and  the  praetorian  guards.  The  first 
zcns.  looked  to  be  courted  and  caressed  as  usual ; 

but  the  treasury  was  empty,  and  Nerva  was  too  thrifty 
to  spend  lavishly  on  the  circus  or  the  theatres  or  the 


96-98.  Nerva.  5 

processions  which  helped  to  make  a  Roman  holiday. 
Still  he  was  careful  of  the  real  interests  of  the  poor  ;  he 
gave  large  sums  for  land  to  be  granted  freely  to  the  colonists 
who  would  exchange  the  lounging  indolence  of  Rome  for 
honest  industry  in  country  work.  Where  funds  were 
wanting  for  this  purpose,  he  stripped  the  palace  of  its 
costly  wares,  sold  even  the  heirlooms  of  his  family,  and 
gave  up  houses  and  broad  lands  to  carry  out  his  plans 
for  the  well-being  of  his  subjects.  To  show  that  such 
self-sacrifice  was  due  to  no  caprice  of  passing  fancy,  he 
had  the  new  name  of  '  The  Palace  of  the  People '  set  up 
in  characters  which  all  might  read  upon  the  mansion  of  the 
Caesars,  while  the  coins  that  were  struck  in  his  imperial 
mint  bore  the  old  name  of  Liberty  upon  their 
face.  For  he  tried,  says  Tacitus,  to  reconcile  ^^^  ^' 
the  claims  of  monarchy  and  freedom — the  two  things 
found  incompatible  before. 

The  distant  legions  had  suffered  little  from  Domitian's 
misrule.  His  father  and  brother  had  been  generals  of 
mark,  and  the  thought  of  his  own  inglorious  campaigns 
soon  faded  from  their  memory  ;  they  knew  him  chiefly 
as  a  liberal  paymaster  and  indulgent  chief,  and  they 
heard  with  discontent  that  the  Flavian  dynasty  had  fallen, 
and  that  Rome  had  chosen  a  new  ruler.  The  soldiers  on 
the  Danube  broke  out  into  open  riot  when  they  heard 
the  news,  and  talked  of  marching  to  avenge  their  master. 
But  by  good  hap,  a  certain  Dion,  a  poor  The  mutiny 
wandering  scholar,  was  at  hand.  Driven  by  Danube  ap- 
the  fallen  tyrant  into  exile  as  a  philosopher    Pf^sed  by 

r        i.      T-      1      J    1-        ,  ,-r  ,  ^'"n  Chry- 

ot  note,  he  had  lived  a  vagrant  life  upon  the  soston. 
frontier,  working  for  a  paltry  pittance  as  a  gardener's 
daily  drudge,  and  carrying  in  his  little  bundle  for  the 
solace  of  his  leisure  only  the  Phaedon  of  Plato  and  a 
single  oration  of  Demosthenes.  Roused  now  to  sudden 
action  by  the  mutiny  among  the  legions,  he  flung  aside, 


6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

like  the  hero  of  the  Odyssey,  the  rags  that  had  disguised 
him,  and  gathering  a  crowd  together  he  held  the  rude 
soldiers  spellbound  by  the  charms  of  an  eloquence  which 
had  won  for  him  the  name  of  Chrysostom  or  Golden- 
mouthed,  while  he  called  up  before  their  fancy  the  out- 
rages that  had  wearied  a  long-suffering  world,  and  armed 
against  the  despot  the  foes  of  his  own  household.  So 
Dion's  well-turned  phrases,  on  which  his  biographer 
dwells  with  admiring  pride,  soothed  the  excited  mutineers, 
and  caused  the  bonds  of  discipline  to  regain  their  hold. 

But  the  praetorians  were  dangerously  near  to  Rome, 
and  had  already  learnt  their  power  to  set  up  or  to 
dethrone  their  rulers.  Their  generals-in-chief  had  taken 
part  in  the  murder  of  Domitian,  and  had  influence 
enough  at  first  to  keep  their  troops  in  hand,  and  make 
The  riotous  them  swear  fealty  to  another  Emperoi-  But 
the'^'r^-^^  discontent  soon  spread  among  them  ;  the 
torians  creatures   of  Domitian   plied  them   with  in- 

trigues, and  found  mouths  ready  to  complain  of  scanty 
largess  and  of  slow  promotion  under  the  influence  of  the 
new  regime.  The  smouldering  fire  soon  burst  into  a 
flame.  The  guards  marched  in  open  riot  to  the  palace 
with  ominous  cries,  and  clamoured  for  the  murderers' 
heads.  It  was  in  vain  that  Nerva  tried  to  soothe  their 
fury  ;  in  vain  he  bared  his  neck  and  bade  them  strike  ; 
the  ringleaders  would  have  their  will,  and  dragged  their 
caused  the  victims  off  to  death  before  the  feeble  Emperor's 
EmperOT  to  eyes.  Such  a  confession  of  his  weakness  was 
ian  as  col-  fatal,  as  he  felt,  to  his  usefulness  as  a  ruler. 
's^iSessor.*^  He  knew  that  stronger  hands  than  his  were 
A.D-  97-  needed  to  steer  the  state  through  the  troubled 

waters,  and  he  resolved  to  choose  at  once  a  worthy  col- 
league and  successor. 

He  chose  with  a  rare  unselfishness  no  kinsman  or 


96- 98. 


Nerva. 


lineage,  but  a  soldier  of  undoubted  merit,  who  was  then 
in  high  command  among  the  legions  on  the  German 
frontier.  A  few  days  afterwards  the  Emperor  made  his 
way  in  state  to  the  temple  on  the  Capitol,  to  offer  thanks 
for  the  news  of  victory  just  brought  from  Pannonia  to 
Rome,  and  there,  in  the  hearing  of  the  crowd,  he  adopted 
Trajan  as  his  son,  with  an  earnest  prayer  that  the  choice 
might  prove  a  blessing  to  the  state.  Then  in  the  senate 
house  he  had  the  name  of  Cassar  given  to  his  partner  in 
the  cares  of  office,  and  that  done,  soon  passed  away  from 
life,  after  sixteen  months  of  rule,  which  served  only  as  a 
'itting  prelude  to  the  government  of  his  successor. 


CHAPTER   II. 

TRAJAN.      A.D.  97-II7. 

Marcus  ULPnjs  t^raJANUS,  a  native  of  Italica  in  Spain, 
had  been  trained  from  early  youth  in  the  hard  discipline  of 
Roman  warfare,  and  by  long  service  in  the     xraian 
camps  had  earned   a  title   to   the  round   of    avenges  the 
civil  honours,  and  to  a  place  among  the  senators     done  to 
of  Rome.      Summoned    by    Domitian    from     Nerva, 
Spain  at  the  head  of  a  legion   to  the  Rhine,  he  haa 
come  probably  too  late   to  help  in   quelling  a   revolt ; 
but  he  had  won  by  his   promptitude  the  honour  of  a 
consulship,  and  was  advanced  by  Nerva  to  the  command 
of  upper  Germany,  then  the  most  importan:  of  provincial 
offices,  in  which  his  energy  was  being  proved  when  the 
unlooked  for  news  arrived  that  he  was  chosen 
for  the  imperial  succession  ;  and  the  tidings     '^'^'  ^^' 
of  Nerva's  death  found  him  still  busy  with  his  mihtary 
duties  on  the  Rhine.     He  was  yet  in  the  full 
vigour  of  his  manhood   when   the  cares   of    -^•°-9-J'»n 
state  fell  with  the  purple  mantle  on  his  shoulders  ;  the 


8^  The  Age  of  the  Afttonmes,  a.d. 

changing  scenes  of  his  laborious  life  had  taucht  him 
experience  of  men  and  manners,  and  it  was  with  no 
wavering  hands  that  he  took  up  the  reins  of  office,  and  he 
grasped  them  firmly  to  the  end.  Mutiny  and  discontent 
seemed  to  have  vanished  already  at  his  name  ;  but  he  had 
not  forgotten  the  outrage  done  to  Nerva,  nor  the  parting 
charge  in  which  he  prayed  him,  like  the  aged 

■  ^^'  Chryses  in  the  words  of  Homer,  '  to  avenge 
the  suppliant's  unavailing  tears.'  Trajan  was  prompt  and 
secret.  The  ringleaders  of  the  riot  were  called  away  to 
Germany  on  various  pleas,  and  none  came  back  to  tell 
how  they  were  treated  there. 

But  though  he  could  enforce  discipline  with  needful 
rigour,  he  had  no  lack  of  reverence  for  constitutional 
but' writes  forms.  One  of  his  earUest  official  acts  was  a 
to  the  _  letter  to  the  senate,  full  of  regard  for  its  august 

senate  m  ,.  .  .       ,        '  ,.,.,,  .       , 

respectful  traditions,  in  the  course  of  which  he  promised 
terms.  ^^  respect  the  life  of  eveiy  man  of  worth.     The 

credulous  fancy  of  the  age,  as  reported  in  the  history  of 
Dion  Cassius,  saw  the  motive  for  the  promise  in  a  dream, 
in  which  a  venerable  figure  came  before  him,  clad  in 
purple  robe  and  with  a  garland  on  his  head — such  as 
was  the  painter's  symbol  for  the  senate — and  laid  his 
finger  upon  Trajan's  neck,  leaving  his  signet  stamp  first 
on  one  side  and  then  upon  the  other.  Whatever  we 
may  think  the  cause,  whether  sense  of  justice  or  mysteri- 
ous warning  prompted  him  to  write  that  letter,  he  tried 
certainly  to  make  good  the  promise  it  contained,  and  trod 
the  dizzy  heights  of  absolute  power  with  the  calmness 
of  a  serene  and  balanced  temper.  He  was  in  no  haste  to 
enter  Rome  or  receive  the  homage  of  the  senate  and  the 
people.  Perhaps  he  breathed  more  freely  in  the  camp, 
where  he  lived  as  simply  as  his  ancient  comrades,  and 
mistrusted  the  parade  and  insincerity  of  the  great  city. 
Perhaps  he  waited  till  he  felt  his  throne  secure,  and 


97-117.  Trajan.  9 

till  he  knew  that  the  far-oft"  legions  had  ratified  the  choice 
of  Nerva. 

At  length,  after  a  year's  delay,  he  quietly  set  out  upon 
the  journey,  without  any  stately  train  of  followers  to 
burden  with  exactions  the  towns  through  which 

-  .  After  a 

they  passed.  The  only  trace  of  ostentation  year's  delay 
which  he  showed  was  in  publishing  the  items  ^^^  ^j^j^. 
of  his  travelling  expenses  side  by  side  with  out  parade, 
the  accounts  of  the  processions  of  Domitian.     ' '  '  ^^' 

At  his  first  entry  into  Rome  there  was  the  same  ab 
sence  of  parade.  He  eschewed  the  white  horses  and 
triumphal  car  of  the  imperial  pageants  ;  no  numerous 
body-guard  kept  the  people  at  a  distance,  but  as  his 
manly  figure  moved  along  the  streets,  men  saw  him  inter- 
change a  hearty  greeting  with  the  senators  he  met,  and 
pass  no  old  acquaintance  unobserved.  They  marked  also 
the  same  simple  earnestness  in  the  bearing  of  his  wife 
Plotina,  who  walked  calmly  by  his  side,  and  as  she 
passed  into  the  palace  that  was  now  to  be  her  The  simple 
home,  prayed  with  a  quiet  emphasis,  in  the  h?^^fe°^ 
hearing  of  the  crowd,  that  she  might  leave  it  Plotina. 
in  the  same  temper  that  she  entered  it. 

A  like  unassuming  spirit  was  shown  in  Trajan's  deal- 
ings with  the  senate.     He  called  upon  it  to  resume  its  work 
as  in  an  age  of  freedom,  and  to  acknowledge    Trajan's 
the  responsibihties  of  power.      He  honestly    respect  for 

,.  1..  ,  .111  the  forms  of 

respected  its  traditions,  and  wished  the  theconsti- 
government  to  be  carried  forward  in  its  name.  ^""°"' 
The  holders  of  official  rank  were  encouraged  to  look 
upon  themselves  as  ministers  of  state  and  not  as  servants 
of  the  Cassar  ;  and  the  new  generals  of  the  imperial 
guards  had  their  swords  given  them  with  the  words,  '  Use 
this  in  my  defence  while  I  rule  justly,  but  against  me  if 
I  prove  to  be  unworthy.'  For  there  was  little  danger 
now  that  the  old  constitutional  forms  should  be  misused. 


10  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

The  senate  was  no  longer  an  assembly  of  great  nobles, 
proudly  reliant  on  the  traditions  of  the  past,  and  on  the 
energy  which  had  laid  the  world  prostrate  at  their  feet. 
Many  of  the  old  families  had  passed  away  ;  their  wealth, 
their  eminence,  their  historic  glories  had  made  them 
victims  to  a  tyrant's  jealousy  or  greed.  Their  places  had 
been  taken  by  new  comers  from  the  provinces  or 
creatures  of  imperial  favour,  and  a  century  had  passed 
away  since  the  senate  of  the  commonwealth  had  claimed 
or  had  deserved  to  rule.  The  ancient  offices,  even  the 
which  consulship  itself,  were  little  more  than  empty 

venerable  honours,  and  therefore  passed  rapidly  from 
were^Ldno  hand  to  hand  ;  and  even  Pliny,  full  as  he  was 
real  power,  ^f  sentimental  reverence  for  the  past,  asked 
himself  if  the  tribunate  which  he  held  awhile  had  indeed 
any  meaning  for  his  days,  or  was  only  a  venerable  sham. 
Hence  Trajan,  strong  and  self-reliant  though  he  was,  had 
no  jealousy  of  names  and  titles,  and  cared  little  for  the 
outer  forms,  so  the  work  was  done  as  he  would  have 
it.  He  had  little  interest  in  meddling  with  the  mere 
machinery  of  government,  and  though  some  parts  were 
chiefly  ornamental,  and  others  seemed  rusty  and  out- 
worn, yet  he  would  not  pull  the  whole  to  pieces  for  the 
sake  of  symmetry  and  finish,  if  there  were  only  working 
wheels  enough  to  bear  the  necessary  strain.  He  knew 
that  from  the  force  of  habit  men  loved  the  venerable 
forms,  and  that  vital  changes  soon  grew  crusted  over 
with  the  fanciful  associations  of  the  past,  till  all  seemed 
old  while  all  was  really  new.  So  new  coins  came  from 
his  mints  with  the  symbols  of  the  old  republic  ;  his 
courtiers  were  allowed  to  guard  with  reverent  care  their 
statues  of  Brutus  and  Cassius  and  the  Catos,  and  the 
once  dreaded  name  of  liberty  came  freely  to  the  pen  of 
every  writer  of  his  day. 

He  shrank  with  instinctive  modesty  from  the  naked 


97-117-  Trajan.  ii 

assertion  of  his  power;  not  like  Augustus  from  fear  or 
hypocritic  craft,  and  therefore  with  the  sense  His  homely 
of  life-long  self-restraint,  but  with  the  frank-  ^^fd^f^ank 
ness  of  a  soldier  who  disliked  high  airs  and  courtesy 
stiff  parade.  He  went  about  the  streets  almost  unguarded, 
allowed  suitors  of  every  class  an  easy  access  to  his 
chamber,  and  took  part  with  genial  courtesy  in  the  social 
gatherings  of  Rome. 

Flattering  phrases  had  no  music  for  his  ear,  and  made 
him  feel  none  of  the  divinity  of  kingship  ;  so  he  delayed 
as  long  as  possible  the  customary  honours  for  and  fearless 
his  kinsmen,  and  flatly  refused  to  pose  him-  confidence, 
self  as  a  deity  before  the  time.  It  was  therefore  only 
natural  for  him  to  rebuke  the  officious  zeal  of  the 
informers  who  reported  words  or  acts  of  seeming  dis- 
respect, and  the  old  laws  of  treason  which  had  covered 
charges,  so  fatal  because  so  ill-defined,  dropped  for 
a  while  at  least  into  abeyance.  After  the  morbid 
suspicions  of  Domitian  men  could  hardly  understand  at 
first  the  fearless  trustfulness  of  the  present  ruler,  and 
they  still  told  him  of  their  fears  and  whispered  their 
misgivings  of  many  a  possible  malcontent  and  traitor. 

One  case  of  this  kind  may  be  singled  out  to  throw 
light  upon  the  Emperor's  temper.  Licinius  Sura  was  one 
of  the  wealthiest  of  living  Romans,  and  a  marked  figure 
in  the  social  circles  in  which  the  intimates  of  Trajan 
moved.  He  had  won  his  sovereign's  confidence,  who 
owed  his  throne,  as  it  was  said,  to  Sura's  influence  when 
Nerva  was  looking  round  for  a  successor.  Yet  sinister 
rumours  of  disloyal  plots  were  coupled  with  his  name, 
and  zealous  friends  soon  brought  the  stories  to  the 
Emperor's  ear,  and  wearied  him  with  their  repeated 
warnings.  At  last  he  started  on  a  visit  to  Licinius  him- 
self, sent  his  guards  home,  and  chatted  freely  with  his 
host  then  asked  to  see  the  servant  who  acted  as   the 


1 2  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines.  a.  d. 

doctor  of  the  house,  and  had  himself  dosed  for  some  slight 
ailment.  After  this  he  begged  to  have  his  friend's  own  bar- 
ber sent  to  him  to  trim  his  beard  as  he  sat  talking  on  ;  and 
that  done,  he  stayed  to  dinner,  took  his  leave,  and  went 
away  without  one  word  or  symptom  of  suspicion.  Ever 
afterwards  he  said  to  those  who  came  to  him  with  any 
ugly  tale  about  Licinius,  *  Why  did  he  spare  me  then, 
when  he  hnd  me  in  his  power,  and  his  servant's  hand 
was  on  my  throat  1 ' 

But  probably  his  special  merit  in  the  eyes  of  all 
classes  in  Italy  save  the  very  poorest  was  his  frugal 
His  frugal  thrift.  Augustus  had  husbanded  with  care 
thrift,  the  resources  of  the   state  and  restored  the 

financial  credit  of  the  empire  ;  but  he  drew  largely  from 
the  purses  of  his  subjects,  had  recourse  at  first  to  pro- 
scriptions and  forced  loans,  and  in  spite  of  angry  clamour 
had  imposed  succession  duties  which  were  odious  to  all 
the  wealthy  Romans.  Vespasian  had  ruled  with  wise 
economy  and  replenished  his  exhausted  coffers  ;  but  then 
his  name  recalled  the  memory  of  a  mean  and  sordid 
parsimony  that  trafficked  and  haggled  for  the  pettiest 
gains.  Most  of  the  other  Caesars  had  supplied  their 
needs  by  rapine  ;  had  struck  down  wealthy  victims 
when  they  coveted  their  lands  or  mansions,  or  had  let 
the  informers  loose  upon  their  prey,  to  harry  and  to 
prosecute,  and  to  rake  the  spoils  into  the  Emperor's 
and  wish  to  privy  purse.  But  Trajan  checked  with  a  firm 
lighten  the      i^^^d  all  the  fiscal  abuses  of  the  last  century 

burdens  of  .  •' 

taxation,  that  were  brought  before  his  eye,  withdrew 
all  bounties  and  encouragements  from  the  informers,  and 
had  the  disputed  claims  of  his  own  agents  brought  before 
the  courts  of  law  and  decided  on  their  legal  merits.  The 
presents  which  town  councils  and  other  corporate  bodies 
had  offered  to  each  sovereign  at  his  accession  had  grown 
into  a  burdensome  exaction,  and  they  heard  with  thank- 
fulness that  Trajan  would  take  nothing  at  their  hands. 


97-1 17- 


Trajan.  1 3 


The  pressure  of  the  succession  duties  too  was 
lightened  ;  near  kinsmen  were  exempted  from  the  charge, 
and  a  minimum  of  property  was  fixed  below  which  the 
heir  paid  nothing.  Men's  dying  wishes  also  were  re- 
spected. No  longer  were  greedy  hands  laid  on  their 
property  in  the  interests  of  Caesar,  nor  quibbling  charges 
brought  to  quash  their  wills  ;  the  legacies  that  fell  to 
Trajan  were  the  tokens  of  a  genuine  regard,  and  not  the 
poor  shifts  of  a  dissembling  fear  which  sacrificed  a  part 
to  save  the  rest. 

A  financial  policy  so  just  and  liberal  was  hailed  on 
all  sides  with  a  hearty  welcome,  but  shrewd  heads  may 
well  have  thought  there  was  a  danger  that  such  self- 
denial  might  be  pushed  too  far.  The  cool  accountants 
and    close-handed     agents    of  the    treasury     ^^^.j^^  ^j^^ 

murmured  probably  that  the  state  would  soon     surprise  of 

,    1      1  -r  1  •  Pliny- 

be  bankrupt  if  systems  so  lax  came  mto  vogue ; 

and  even  Pliny  in  his  stately  panegyric,  after  a  passing 

jest  at  their  expense,   stays  the  current   of 

his  unbroken  praise  to  hint  that  there  may     ^'^'  ^°°" 

possibly  be  rocks  ahead.  *  When  I  think,'  he  says,  '  of  the 

loyal  offerings  declined,  of  the  imperial  dues  remitted  by 

the  treasury,   of  the   informers  thrust   aside,  and   then 

again   of  the  largess  granted  to   the   soldiers  and  the 

people,    I    am   tempted  to  enquire    whether  you  have 

balanced  carefully  enough  the  ways  and  means  of  the 

imperial  budget.'    And  indeed  the  Roman  ruler's  purse 

was  not  too  full,  nor  was  it  an  easy  task  to  meet  the 

calls  upon  it. 

The  charges  of  the  civil  service  were  a  new  burden 

of  the  empire.      In  the  best  days  of  the  republic  men 

served  their  country  from  a  sense  of  duty  or    Economy 

for  honour  ;  in  the  worst  age  of  its  decline    could  save 

they  received  no  pay  directly  from  the  state, 

but  pillaged  the  poor  provmcials  at   their   mercy.     Now 


14  The  Age  of  the  Antojtincs,  a.d 

salaries  were  given  to  all  the  officials  of  the  central 
government  throughout  the  Roman  world,  save  a  few  only 
in  the  capital,  and  the  outlay  on  this  head  tended  always 
to  mount  higher  as  the  mechanism  in  each  department 
grew  more  complex.  The  world  had  been  conquered 
at  the  first  by  troops  of  citizens,  serving  only  on  short 
campaigns  ;  and  in  after  years  the  needy  soldiers  of  the 
later  commonwealth  were  in  great  measure  fed  and 
pensioned  out  of  the  plunder  of  the  provinces  :  but  the 
standing  armies  now  encamped  upon  the  borders  of  the 
empire,  though  small  if  measured  by  the  standard  of  our 
modern  life,  were  large  enough  to  make  their  maintenance 
a  problem  somewhat  hard  to  solve.  The  dissolute 
populace  of  Rome,  too  proud  to  work  but  not  to  beg, 
looked  to  have  their  food  and  pleasures  provided  for  them 
by  the  state,  and  were  likely  to  rise  in  riotous  discontent 
if  their  civil  hst  were  pared  too  close. 

Under  these  heads  there  was  little  saving  to  be  made, 
and  it  remained  only  for  the  Emperor  to  stint  himself, 
except  in  the  Happily  he  had  few  costly  tastes,  no  pampered 
Emperor's  favouritcs  to  be  endowed,  no  passion  for  build- 
expendi-  ing  sumptuous  palacGs,  no  wish  to  squander 
tare.  ^^  revenues  of  a  province  on  a  single  stately 

pageant,  to  be  a  nine  days'  wonder  to  the  world. 

He  was  blessed  too  with  a  wife  of  rare  discretion. 
Content  like  the  old  Roman  matrons  to  rule  her  house 
with  singleness  of  heart  and  be  the  life-long  partner  of 
her  husband's  cares,  Plotina  showed  no  restless  vanity 
as  the  queen  of  changing  fashions  in  the  gay  society  of 
the  great  city,  but  discouraged  luxury  and  ostentation, 
and  was  best  pleased  to  figure  in  the  coinage  of  her 
Large  out-  times  as  the  familiar  type  of  wifely  fidelity 
^Tbllc  ^"^   womanly    decorum.      Little   was   spent 

works,  upon  the  imperial  household,  but  there  was 

large  outlay  on  great  public  works,  planned  and  carried  ^\\\ 


97-117-  Trajan,  15 

with  grand  magnificence.  Gradually  by  patient  thrift 
the  funds  were  gathered  for  such  ends  as  trade  revived, 
and  credit  was  restored,  and  capital  came  forth  once 
more  from  its  hiding  places  in  an  epoch  of  mutual  con- 
fidence and  justice.  As  the  national  wealth  increased 
under  the  influence  of  favouring  conditions,  the  burdens 
of  taxation  pressed  less  heavily,  while  the  revenues  ot 
the  state  grew  larger  every  year. 

Safety  and  ease  of  intercourse  are  among  the  primary 
needs  of  civilized  life,  and  the  Romans  might  be  proud 
of  being  the  great  road-makers  of  the  ancient 
world.  But  of  late  years,  we  read,  the  needful 
works  had  been  neglected,  and  some  of  the  famous  high- 
ways of  old  times  were  fast  falling  into  disrepair.  The 
Appian  above  all,  the  queen  of  roads  as  it  had  once 
been  styled,  was  figured  in  the  coins  and  bas-rehefs  of 
Trajan's  reign  as  a  woman  leaning  on  a  wheel,  and 
linploring  the  Emperor  to  come  to  her  relief.  Succour 
was  given  with  a  liberal  hand,  and  where  it  ran  through 
the  dangerous  Pontine  marshes,  foundations  of  solid 
stone  were  raised  above  the  surface  of  the  boggy  soil, 
bridges  were  built  over  the  winding  rivulets,  and  houses 
of  refuge  erected  here  and  there  along  the  way. 

Other  parts  of  Italy  were  also  the  objects  of  hke 
care.  Three  new  roads  at  least  connected  the  great 
towns  that  lay  upon  the  coast,  and  though  the  frag- 
mentary annals  of  the  times  make  no  mention  of  them, 
the  milestones  or  monuments  since  found  speak  of  the 
careful  forethought  of  the  ruler  whose  name  they  bore. 
We  have  also  in  like  forms  in  other  countries  the  same 
enduring  witnesses  to  roads  and  works  like  and 
the  famous  bridge  of  Alcantara  ;  and  the  ^"dges, 
cost  of  these  was  sometimes  met  by  his  own  pi  ivy 
purse,  sometimes  by  the  imperial  treasury,  or  else  by 
Ihe  corporate  funds  of  neighbouring  towns. 


1 6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

Much  was  done  too   in  the  interests   of   trade    to 

open  up  Italy  to  foreign  navies.     The  old  port  of  Ostia, 

deepened  and  improved  a  century  before,  had  been  nearly 

choked  by  sand  and  mud.     Fresh  efforts  were  now  made 

to  arrest  the  forces  of  decay,  and  under  the 

and  ports,  r  t-      •       ^      t>      i.    -^ 

new  name  of  Trajan  s  Port  it  appears  upon 
the  faces  of  the  coins  as  a  wide  bay  in  which  triremes 
could  ride  at  anchor.  But  Rome  seemed  to  need  a  safer 
outlet  to  the  sea,  as  the  old  one  at  the  Tiber's  mouth 
A.D.  io6  or  was  really  doomed  to  fail.  A  new  port  was 
*°'-  therefore  made   at  Centumcell?e,   the   Civita 

Vecchia  of  later  days.  Pliny,  who  went  there  on  a 
Pliny,  vi,  '^^^it  when  the  work  was  going  on,  describes 
31-  in  lively  style  what  was  being  done  before  his 

eyes,  and  tells  of  the  breakwater  which,  rising  at  the 
entrance  of  the  harbour,  looked  almost  like  a  natuiai 
island,  though  formed  of  rocks  from  the  mainland. 

A  third  work  of  the  same  kind  was  carried  forward 
on  the  other  coast,  in  the  harbour  of  Ancona  ;  and  a  grand 
triumphal  arch,  built  of  enormous  blocks  of  stone,  is  left 
still  standing  to  record  the  senate's  grateful  praises  of 
before  a.d.  the  ruler  who  had  spent  so  much  out  of  his 
'°9-  own  purse  to  open  Italy  and  make  the  seas 

secure.  The  Isthmus  of  Suez  too  was  cared  for  in  the 
interests  of  trade  ;  and  the  name  of  Trajan  which  it  bears 
in  Ptolemy  points  to  the  efforts  of  the  monarch  to  carry  out 
the  needful  works  in  connexion  with  the  granite  quarries 
of  the  neighbouring  Claudian  range,  in  which  inscriptions 
of  the  period  are  found.  Nor  was  Rome  neglected  while 
and  aque-  Other  lands  were  cared  for.  The  great  aque- 
ducts, ducts  of  the  republic  and  the  early  empire 
were  not  now  enough  to  content  the  citizens  of  Rome, 
arvd  complamts  were  often  heard  that  the  streams  of 
water  Drought  m  them  from  the  hills  far  away  were  often 
turbid  and  impure,  and  poiluied  by  the  carelessness  of 


97-117.  Trajan.  ly 

those  who  used  them.  But  now  the  various  sources  of 
supply  were  kept  carefully  distinct,  a  lake  was 
formed  in  and  reserved  for  separate  uses  ;  •  •  *  °- 
which  the  waters  of  the  Anio  might  stand  and  clear 
themselves  after  their  headlong  course  over  the  rough 
mountain  ground ;  and  besides  these  and  the  purer 
streams  of  the  Aqua  Marcia,  others  were  provided  by  the 
bounty  of  the  present  ruler  and  specially  honoured  with 
his  name.  For  nearly  300,000  Roman  paces  the  various 
aqueducts  were  carried  on  the  long  lines  of  countless 
arches,  and  their  vast  remains  still  move  the  traveller's 
wonder  as  he  sees  them  stretch  from  the  city  walls  far 
into  the  Campagna,  or  perhaps  even  more  as  he  comes 
here  and  there  upon  some  stately  fragment  in  the  lonely 
valleys  of  the  Sabine  hills. 

The  policy  of  the  great  statesmen  of  the  Augustan 
Age,  the  vanity  and  pomp  of  other  rulers,  had  filled  the 
capital  with  great  buildings  destined  for  every    ^^^  ^^^^^^ 
variety  of  use  ;  but  as  if  the  supply  was  still    and 

.  '  ,       ,  ,     ^'^     .  ,      theatres, 

too  scanty,  fresh  baths  and  porticoes  and 
theatres  were  raised  to  speak  to  future  ages  of  the 
sovereign  who  Hved  simply  but  built  grandly.  For  his 
own  personal  comfort,  it  would  seem,  no  mason  toiled, 
and  when  the  great  circus  was  enlarged  to  hold  some 
thousand  more  spectators,  the  Emperor's  balcony  was 
swept  away,  and  no  projecting  lines  were  left  to  interrupt 
the  people's  view.  Pliny  had  once  said  of  him,  in  the 
formal  eulogy  of  earlier  days,  that  his  modesty  of 
temper  led  him  to  preserve  the  old  works  rather  than 
raise  new  ones,  and  that  the  streets  of  Rome  at  last  had 
rest  from  the  heavy  loads  of  the  contractor's  waggons. 
And  this  was  true  perhaps  of  the  first  years  of  his  reign  ; 
it  may  have  held  good  always  of  the  wants  of  himself 
and  of  his  family  ;  but  it  seems  a  curious  contrast  to  the 
words  in  which,  after  seeing  Trajan's  name  inscribed 
/f.  C 


1 8  The  Age  of  the  Afitonines.  a.d. 

on  one  after  another  of  the  national  monuments  Avhich  he 
had  raised,  Constantine  compared  it  to  the  parasitic 
herb  which  grew  as  a  thing  of  course  on  every  wall. 
without  But   in   all  this  he  was   only    following  the 

burdens  imperial    traditions,   and  the    only  trace   ot 

of  taxation,  novelty  therein  was  doing  so  much  without 
putting  fresh  burdens  on  his  people. 

Another  form  of  outlay  showed  a  more  original  concep- 
tion, and  the  end  and  means  in  this  case  were  both  new. 
In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  some  peasants 
near  Placentia  (Piacenza)  turned  up  with  the  plough  a 
Thechari-  bronze  tablet,  which  was  no  less  than  ten 
table  feet  broad,  six  feet  high,  and  600  pounds  in 

endowments  .    ,  ,'  ,       ,         .  . 

for  poor  weight.     It  was  soon  broken  mto  pieces,  some 

children.  ^^  which  wcre  sold  as  old  metal  to  be  melted 
down  for  bells,  but  happily  they  caught  the  eyes  of 
men  who  had  scholarship  enough  to  read  the  Latin 
words  engraved  on  them.  By  their  liberality  and  zeal 
the  other  fragments  were  bought  up,  and  the  whole  when 
pieced  together  brought  to  light  one  of  the  longest  classical 
inscriptions  yet  discovered,  written  in  as  many  as  670 
lines.  It  consists  of  mortgage  deeds  by  which  large 
aums  were  lent  by  the  Emperor  on  landed  property 
throughout  some  districts  near  Placentia.  The  names 
of  the  several  farms  and  owners,  and  the  various  amounts, 
were  specified  in  great  detail,  and  the  interest  at  five  per 
cent,  was  to  be  paid  over  to  a  fund  for  the  maintenance  of 
poor  boys  and  girls  whose  number  and  pensions  were 
defined.  Fragments  of  a  like  inscription  have  been  found 
since  then  at  Beneventum,  and  we  have  reason  to  believe 
that  throughout  Italy  there  were  similar  provisions  for  a 
measure  which  history  speaks  of  in  quite  general  terms. 

In  this  there  are  several  things  that  call  for  notice. 
First  as  to  the  end  proposed.  In  Rome  itself  there  had 
been  for  two  centuries  a  sort  of  poor  law  system,  by 


97-117-  Trajan.  19 

which  many  thousands  of  the  citizens  had  received  their 
monthly  dole  of  corn.  No  Emperor  had  been  rash  enough 
to  repeal  this  law,  though  thoughtful  statesmen  mourned 
over  the  lazy  able-bodied  paupers  crowded  in  the  capital, 
and  the  discouragement  to  industry  abroad.  The  custom 
in  old  times  had  grown  out  of  no  tenderness  of  charity, 
but  from  the  wish  to  keep  the  populace  in  good  humour 
at  the  expense  of  the  provincials  who  had  to  pay  the  cost, 
and  in  later  times  it  was  kept  up  from  fear  of  the  riots 
that  might  follow  if  the  stream  ceased  to  flow.  But  in 
all  parts  there  were  helpless  orphans,  or  children  of  the 
destitute  and  disabled,  to  whom  the  world  was  hard  and 
pitiless,  and  for  whom  real  charity  was  needed,  ^j^^  novelty 
From  these  the  actual  government  had  nothing  and  use  of 
to  hope,  nothing  to  fear,  and  to  care  for  these 
was  to  recognise  a  moral  duty  which  had  never  been 
owned  on  a  large  scale  by  any  ruler  before  Trajan. 
There  was  yet  this  further  reason  to  make  their  claim 
more  pressing,  in  that  it  rested  with  the  father's  will  to 
expose  or  rear  the  new-born  babe.  Infanticide  was  sadly 
common  as  hope  and  industry  declined,  and  good  land 
was  passing  into  desert  from  want  of  hands  to  till  the 
soil.  There  was  no  fear  then  that  the  increase  of  popula- 
tion should  outrun  the  means  of  living ;  but  there  was 
danger  that  the  selfish  or  improvident  should  decline  the 
cares  of  fatherhood,  hurry  out  of  life  again  statesman- 
those  whom  they  had  called  into  the  world,  or  ship  shown 
leave  them  to  struggle  at  haphazard  through  of  the  en™ 
the  tender  years  of  childhood.  As  to  the  dowment. 
end  therefore  we  may  say  that  tender-heartedness  was 
shown  in  caring  for  the  young  and  helpless,  and  also  states- 
manship in  trying  to  rear  more  husbandmen  to  till  the 
fields  of  Italy.  The  coins  and  monuments  bring  both  of 
these  aims  before  our  eyes,  sometimes  portraying  Trajan 
as  raising  from  the  ground  women  kneeling  with  their  little 
c  2 


20  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

ones,  at  other  times  referring  to  the  methods  by  which 
he  had  provided  for  the  eternity  of  his  dear  Italy. 

As  to  means,  again,  we  may  note  the  measures  taken 
to  set  on  foot  a  lasting  system.  Payments  from  the 
treasury  made  by  one  ruler  might  have  been  withdrawn 
by  his  successor  ;  personal  caprice  or  the  pressure  of 
other  needs  might  cause  the  funds  to  be  withheld,  and 
starve  the  charitable  work.  The  endowment  therefore 
took  the  form  of  loans  made  to  the  landowners  through- 
out the  country,  and  the  interest  was  paid  by  them  to  a 
special  Bounty  Office,  for  which  commissioners  were 
named  each  year  to  collect  and  to  dispense  the  sums 
accruing.  There  was  also  this  advantage  in  the  course, 
that  the  landed  interest  gained  by  the  new  capital  em- 
ployed upon  the  soil,  while  needful  works,  brought  to  a 
standstill  for  the  want  of  funds,  could  be  pushed  forward 
with  fresh  vigour,  to  multiply  the  resources  of  the 
country. 

Lastly,  we  may  be  curious  to  know  something  more  of 
the  results.  The  government  had  done  so  much  that 
Others  act  ^^  might  well  have  been  expected  that  the 
in  a  like  work  would  be  taken  up  by  other  hands,  and 
'^"^  that  kindly  charities  of  the  same  sort  would 

spread  fast  among  the  wealthy.  And  some  did  copy  the 
fashion  set  them  from  above.  Pliny  in  his  letters  tells  us 
how  he  had  acted  in  like  spirit,  by  saddling  some  estates 
with  a  rent  charge  which  was  always  to  be  spent  on  the 
maintenance  of  poor  boys  and  girls,  and  we  may  still 
read  an  inscription  in  whicK  the  town  of  Como  gives  him 
thanks  for  the  kindly  charity  of  his  endowment.  His 
beneficence  dates  probably  in  its  earliest  form  from 
Nerva's  reign,  but  others  seemingly  began  to  follow  the 
example  of  their  rulers,  for  the  legal  codes  speak 
of  it  as  a  practice  not  uncommon  ;  and  each  of  the 
three  Emperors  who  followed  gave  something  to  help  on 


97-117-  Trajafi.  21 

the  cause,  in  the  interest  more  often  of  the  girls  than  of 
the  boys,  because  perhaps  they  had  been  less  cared  for 
hitherto,  and  at  their  birth  Roman  fathers  more  often 
refused  to  bear  the  expense  of  rearing  them. 

But  in  the  darker  times  that  were  presently  in  store, 
later  rulers  found  the  treasury  bankrupt,  and  laid  greedy 
hands  upon  the  funds  which  for  a  century  had  helped  so 
many  through  the  years  of  helplessness,  and  all  notice 
of  them  vanishes  at  last  from  history  in  the  strife  and 
turmoil  of  the  ages  of  decline. 

The  beneficence  of  former  rulers,  we  have  seen,  took 
the  questionable  form  of  monthly  doles  of  corn  to  the 
populace  of  Rome.  To  fill  the  granaries  and  ^j^^  p^jj^^^ 
stock  the  markets  of  the  capital  they  had  of  Trajan 
the  tribute  paid  in  kind  by  the  great  corn-  to\hecom 
bearing  provinces.  They  had  bought  up  ''^^'^^• 
large  quantities  of  grain  and  fixed  an  arbitrary  scale  of 
prices,  had  forbidden  the  export  of  produce  to  any  but 
Italian  ports,  and  had  watched  over  Egypt  with  a  jealous 
^are  as  the  storehouse  of  the  empire,  in  which  at  first  no 
Roman  noble  might  even  land  without  a  passport.  But 
Trajan  had  the  breadth  of  view  to  begin  a  more  enhght- 
ened  policy.  He  trusted  wholly  to  free  trade  to  balance 
the  supply  and  the  demand,  declined  to  fix  a  legal  maxi- 
mum forwhat  hebought,  and  trusted  the  producers  to  bring 
the  supplies  in  their  own  way  to  Rome.  Egypt  itself  was 
suffering  from  a  dearth  because  the  Nile  refused  to  rise  ; 
but  happily  elsewhere  the  failure  of  her  stores  was  lightly 
felt,  for,  thanks  to  the  freedom  of  the  carrying  trade, 
other  rich  countries  stepped  into  her  place,  and  after 
keeping  the  markets  of  Italy  supplied,  even  fed  Egypt 
with  the  surplus. 

Trajan's  treatment  of  provincial  interests  showed  the 
same  large-minded  policy.  A  curious  light  is  thrown  upon 
tne  subject  by  the  letters  written  to  him  by  Phny  while 


22  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

governor  of  Bithynia,  and  these  are  still  left  for  us  to 
read,  together  with  the  Emperor's  replies, 
riis  treat-  First  we  may  notice  by  their  help   how 

Siann-'°'  large  a  range  of  local  freedom  and  self- 
terests  as        government  remained  throughout  the  Roman 

shown  in  the      °        ,  ^,  ,      .  ,         °,. 

correspond-  empire.  Though  m  that  distant  province 
P^fny^A.^D.  *^^^^  ^^''^  ^^^  citizens  of  the  highest  class, 
I"-  and  scarcely  any  municipia  or  colonies,  yet 

Municipal  the  Currents  of  free  civic  hfe  flowed  strongly. 
iSeTon  Popular  assemblies,  senates,  and  elected 
sufferance;  magistrates  managed  the  affairs  of  every 
petty  town  ;  the  richest  men  were  proud  to  serve 
their  countrymen  in  posts  of  honour,  and  to  spend 
largely  of  their  means  in  the  interest  of  all.  But  these 
privileges,  though  in  some  few  cases  guaranteed  by 
special  treaty  dating  from  the  times  of  conquest,  had 
commonly  no  legal  safeguard  to  secure  them  ;  they  lasted 
on  by  sufferance  only,  because  the  Roman  governors  had 
neither  will  nor  leisure  to  rule  all  the  details  of  social  life 
around  them.  The  latter  had,  however,  large  powers  of 
provin-  interference,  subject  only  to  appeal  to  Rome ; 

cial  and   if  they  were   passionate  or  venal  they 

governors  i  j     ^i.    •  x  ^-r 

were  often  abused  their  power  to  gratify  caprice  or 
interfere '°  greed,  though  often  called  to  account  for 
with  them,  their  misdceds  when  their  term  of  office  had 
expired.  Conscientious  rulers  also  were  tempted  to 
meddle  or  dictate,  sometimes  from  the  strong  man's 
Instinctive  grasp  of  power,  sometimes  from  impatience  of 
disorder  and  confusion,  or  from  a  love  of  symmetry  and 
uniformity  of  system  ;  and  above  all  it  seemed  their  duty 
to  step  in  to  prevent  such  waste  or  misuse  of  public 
funds  as  might  burden  future  ages  or  dry  the  sources  of 
the  streams  that  fed  the  imperial  treasury. 

Pliny  was  a  talker  and  a  student  rather  than  a  man 
of  action,  and  feeling  the  weight  of  power  heavy,  he 


97-H7-  Trajan.  23 

leant  upon  the  Emperor  for  support  and  guidance.     Not 
content  with  referring  to  his  judgment  all  grave  questions, 
he  often  wrote  on  things  of  very  little  moment      as  was 
'  Prusa  has  an  old  and  dirty  bath  ;  may  not    S'even 
the  town  enlarge  it  on  a  scale  more  worthy    P.e"y  <i"^s- 

r     ^  f       r    t         •  i     i  i        i  /-     tions  to  the 

of  the  credit  of  the  city  and  the  splendour  of  Emperor, 
your  reign?'  'The  aqueduct  at  Nicomedia  is  in  ruins, 
though  large  sums  have  been  wasted  more  than  once 
upon  the  works.  As  they  really  are  in  want  of  water, 
would  it  not  be  well  to  see  that  they  spend  their  money 
wisely,  and  use  up  the  old  materials  as  far  as  they  will 
go,  though  for  the  rest  bricks  will  be  cheaper  than  hewn 
stone?'  'The  theatre  and  gymnasium  at  Nicasa  have 
been  very  badly  built,  ought  not  an  architect  to  be 
employed  to  see  if  they  can  be  repaired  without  throwing 
good  money  after  bad  ? '  '  Nicomedia  would  like  to 
enlarge  the  area  of  its  market-place,  but  an  old  half-ruined 
temple  of  the  Great  Goddess  stops  the  way.  Might  it  not 
be  transferred  to  a  new  site,  as  I  can  find  nothing  in  the 
form  of  consecration  to  forbid  it  ?  Also  there  has  been 
great  havoc  done  by  fire  of  late  in  the  same  city  for  the 
want  of  engines  and  the  men  to  work  them  ;  would  there 
be  any  danger  in  setting  up  a  guild  of  firemen  to  meet 
like  cases  in  the  future,  if  all  due  care  is  taken  against 
possible  abuses?'  On  some  of  these  points  indeed  the 
Emperor  might  wish  to  be  consulted,  as  they  had  to 
do  with  the  power  of  the  purse.  But  he  read  with  more 
impatience  the  requests  that  Pliny  made  to  him  to  have 
architects  and  surveyors  sent  from  Rome  to  carry  out  the 
works  :  he  reminded  him  that  such  artists  were  no 
specialty  of  Italian  growth,  but  were  trained  more  easily 
in  Greece  and  Asia.  Still  more  emphatic  is  the  language 
in  which  he  rebuked  his  minister's  ill-timed  zeal,  which 
would  make  light  of  the  charters  and  traditions  of  the 
province.     He  tells  him  that  it  might  be  convenient,  but 


24  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

would  not  be  seemly,  to  force  the  town  councillors,  as  he 
Trajan  wished,  to  take  up  at   interest  on   loan   the 

sj[)ect  local  public  funds  which  were  then  lying  idle  ;  that 
usages,  and     ^hg  old  privilege  of  Apamea  to  draw  up  its 

not  meddle  S     .       ^,       .  .     ^  .  , 

needlessly,  budget  for  itself  Without  control  must  be  re- 
spected, anomaly  as  it  might  seem.  He  has  no  wish,  for 
the  mere  sake  of  symmetry,  to  set  aside  the  variety  of 
local  usages  as  to  the  entrance  fees  paid  on  admission  to 
the  senates  ;  and  in  general  he  repeats  that  he  will  have 
no  wanton  meddling  with  any  rights  based  on  real 
charters,  or  virith  any  old-established  customs. 

As  we  read  the  letters,  we  admire  the  cautious  self- 
restraint  of  Trajan  in  refusing  to  allow  smooth  systems 
or  centra-  ^^  Centralized  machinery  to  take  the  place  of 
lize  too  fast,  the  motlcy  aggregate  of  local  usages;  but 
there  are  also  to  be  noted  some  ominous  tokens  for  the 
future.  If  the  gentle  Pliny  while  in  office  under  Trajan 
was  tempted  to  propose  despotic  measures,  would  not 
other  ministers  be  likely  to  go  further  in  that  course,  with 
more  favour  from  their  master  ?  If  the  central  govern- 
ment had  such  watchful  care  already  for  the  revenues  of 
every  town,  would  it  not  in  time  of  need  help  itself  freely 
to  the  funds  which  it  had  husbanded  so  jealously  1 

The  answer  to  these  questions  would  reveal  in  a  later 
age  two  causes  of  the  empire's  slow  decline,  the  para- 
lysis of  the  local  energy  which  was  displaced  by  centra- 
lized bureaux,  and  the  exhaustion  of  a  society  over- 
burdened by  taxation. 

Great  as  were  Trajan's  merits  in  the  arts  of  peace,  the 
The  world  world  knew  him  chiefly  as  a  soldier,  re- 
knew  most      newing  after  a  century  of  disuse  the  imperial 

of  Trajan  s  ...  -    ,  i       /-.  rr^i  . 

military  traditions  of  the  early  Caesars.     The  genius 

powers,  q£  Julius^  the  Steady  progress  of  the  generals 

of  Augustus,  had  carried  the  conquering  arms  of  Rome 
into  new  lands,  and  pushed  the  frontiers  forward   till 


97-117-  Trajan.  2$ 

well-defined  natural  boundaries  were  reached.      Since 
then  there  had  been  little  effort  to  go  onward,  and  save 
in  the  case  of  Britain,  no  conquest  of  importance  had 
been  made.     The  Emperors  had  kept  their  generals  to 
the  border  camps,  and  had  shown  little  taste  for  warlike 
enterprise;   even  those   who,  like  Vespasian,   had  been 
trained  as  soldiers,  found  the  round  of  official  work  task 
all  their  energies  at  Rome,  or  feared  the  risk  of  a  long 
absence  in  a  far-off  province.     Trajan  had  other  views. 
It  seemed  to  him  perhaps  that  the  machinery    ^^^^  ^^^^^^ 
of  central  government  was  working  smoothly    earlier 
and  securely,  while  his  own  warlike  qualities     policy  was 
were  rusting  away  foi   want  of  use.     Policy    one  of  war. 
might  whisper  that  an  empire  won  by  force  must  be 
maintained  by  constant  drill  and  timely  energy,  and  that 
the  spirit  of  the  legions  might  grow  faint  if  they  were 
always  cooped  up  in  bolder  camps  in  the  dull  routine 
of  an  inglorious  service,  while  the  neighbouring  races  ol 
the  north  were  showing  daily  a  bolder  and  more  threaten- 
ing front. 

On  the  side  of  Germany  indeed  there  was  for 
a  while  no  pressing  danger.  The  hostile  tribes  were 
weakened  by  their  internecine  struggles,  and  the 
*  Germania '  of  Tacitus,  which  was  written  early  in  this 
reign,  records  in  tones  of  cruel  triumph  the  bloody  feuds 
which  had  almost  blotted  from  the  book  of  nations  the 
name  of  the  once  powerful  Bructeri.  But  in  the  Roman 
ranks  themselves  there  had  been  licence  and  disorder, 
and  Trajan  seems  to  have  been  sent  by  Domitian  to  hold 
the  chief  command  upon  the  Rhine,  as  a  general  who 
could  be  trusted  to  tighten  the  bands  of  discipline  and 
secure  the  wavering  loyalty  of  the  legions.  One  of 
their  chiefs  had  lately  risen  in  revolt  against  his  master, 
and  the  mutiny,  though  soon  put  down,  had  left  behind 
it  a  smouldering  discontent  and  restlessness  in  the  temper 


26  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

of  the  soldiers.  The  spirit  of  discipline  had  commonly 
declined  at  once  when  the  highest  posts  were  filled  by 
On  the  side  weak  and  selfish  generals,  and  it  needed  a 
of  Germany  strong  hand  and  a  resolute  will  to  check  the 
content  to  evils  of  misrule.  He  found  work  enough 
the^fr?nt!er  ^^^^Y  ^o  his  hand  to  last  for  years,  and  even 
with  defen-  the  tidings  of  his  great  rise  in  life,  and  of  the 
andhe°did  death  of  Nerva,  did  not  tempt  him  for  some 
?eturnr  ^°     ^'"^^  *°  leave  his  post  of  military  duty. 

He  left  some  enduring  traces  of  his  organiz- 
^'^'  ^  '  ing  care  in  the  towns  and  fortresses  which  he 
founded  or  restored,  and  in  the  great  line  of  defence 
which  he  strengthened  on  the  frontier.  On  the  site 
of  the  old  camp  or  fort  (castra  Vetera),  which  was 
stormed  by  the  Germans  in  the  war  of  67,  he  built  the 
colony  of  Ulpia  Trajana,  the  name  of  which  reappears 
in  the  curious  form  of  the  '  little  Troy '  in  the  early 
German  poems,  and  helped  to  give  currency  to  the  old 
fancy  that  the  Franks  had  come  from  Troy  ;  while  in  a 
later  age  it  changed  to  that  of  Xanten  (urbs  Sanctorum) 
as  the  supposed  scene  of  the  great  massacre  of  Victor 
and  his  sainted  followers  by  the  Theban  legion.  Among 
the  many  scenes  which  he  chose  for  colonies  or  castles, 
the  most  famous  probably  in  later  times  was  that  of 
Aquae  (Baden-Baden),  where  many  traces  have  been 
found  of  the  legions  which  were  serving  under  him,  and 
of  the  soldiers  who  probably  were  often  glad  to  take  the 
waters  there,  like  the  invalids  of  later  days.  But  the 
greatest  works  on  this  side  of  the  empire  were  carried  on 
for  the  defence  of  the  tithe  grounds  (' Agri  decumates') 
between  the  Danube  and  the  Rhine,  to  which  colonists 
had  been  invited  from  all  parts  of  Gaul  with  the  offer  of  a 
free  grant  of  lands,  subject  only  to  the  payment  of  a  tenth  as 
rent-charge  to  the  state.  This  corner  was  the  weak  place 
\Xi  the  Roman  border  on  the  north  and  ^s  such  needed 


97-117- 


Trajan,  27 


special  lines  for  its  defence ;  Drusus  and  Tiberius  had 
long  ago  begun  to  raise  them,  and  they  were  now  pushed 
on  with  energy,  and  continued  by  succeeding  rulers. 
The '  limes  Romanorum '  ran  along  for  many  a  mile  from 
one  great  river  to  the  other,  with  wall  and  dyke  and 
palisade,  and  forts  at  short  intervals  to  protect  the  works. 
Remains  of  them  are  still  left  here  and  there,  scarcely 
injured  by  the  wreck  of  ages,  and  are  called  in  the 
peasants' /<a:/(?zV  the  '  Devil's  Wall '  or  '  Heathens'  Dyke,' 
and  many  more  fantastic  names.  Ages  after  Trajan  some 
of  the  defences  of  this  country  still  bore  his  name  in 
history  as  well  as  local  fancy,  and  witnessed  to  his  energy 
in  office ;  and  modern  travellers  have  fancied,  though 
with  little  reason,  that  ruins  found  near  Mainz  belonged 
to  a  stone  bridge  built  by  him  across  the  Rhine,  on  the 
same  plan  as  the  famous  one  upon  the  Danube. 

His  work  in  Germany  v/as  done  so  thoroughly  before 
he  left  that  he   never  needed  to  return.     But  on  the 
Danube  there  was  soon  a  pressing  call  for     gut  his 
resolute  action,  and  the  Emperor  answered  it    presence 
without  delay.     The  people  scattered  on  both     needed  on 
sides  of  the  lower  Danube  appear  in  history     ihe  Danube, 
under  many  names,   of  which    the  most   familiar  are 
Thracians,  Geta},  Dacians  ;  but  all  seemingly  were  mem- 
bers of  the  same  great  race.     They  had  come  often  into 
hostile  contact  with  the  powers  of  Greece  and  Rome,  till 
at  last,  under  Augustus,all  the  southern  tribes  were  brought 
into  subjection,  and  their  land,  under  the  name  of  Moesia 
became  a  Roman  province.    Their  kinsmen  on  the  north 
retained  their  independence,  and  the  Dacian     „.,     . 

1111  111  1  ,        1  he  rise  of 

peoples  had  been  lately  drawn  together  and    the  Dacian 
welded  into  a  formidable  nation  by  the  energy    '''"sdom, 
of  Decebalus,  their  chieftain.     Not  content  with  organiz- 
ing a  powerful  kingdom  within  the  mountain  chains  of 
Transylvania,  he  had  sallied  from  his  natural  fastness 


28  The  Age  of  the  A ntonines.  a. d. 

and  crossed  the  Danube  to  spread  havoc  among  the  vil- 
lages of  Mcesia.  Domitian  had  marched  in  person  to 
the  rescue,  but  found  too  late  that  he  had  neither  the 
soldier's  daring  nor  the  general's  skill,  and  was  glad  to 
purchase  an  inglorious  peace  by  the  rich  presents  that  the 
Dacians  looked  upon  as  tribute.  Artists  also  and  me- 
chanics were  demanded  to  spread  the  arts  of  Roman 
culture  in  the  north,  for  Decebalus  was  no  mere  barbarian 
of  vulgar  aim,  but  one  who  had  the  insight  to  see  the 
advantages  of  civilized  ways,  and  to  meet  his  rivals  with 
the  weapons  drawn  from  their  own  armoury.  Emboldened 
d  threat  ^^  success  he  raised  his  terms,  and  took  a 
ofDeceba-  threatening  attitude  upon  the  Danube,  pre 
"^'  suming  on  the  weakness  of  the  timid  Domitian 

and  the  aged  Nerva.  But  Trajan  was  in  no  mood  to 
brook  such  insults,  and  when  asked  for  the  usual  pre- 
sents he  haughtily  replied  that  he  at  least  had  not  been 
conquered  ;  then  hearing  of  fresh  insults,  and  of  intrigues 
with  the  neighbouring  races,  and  even  with  the  distant 
Trajan  de-  Parthians,  he  resolved  on  war,  and  set  out 
"^nd^et^^t  himself  to  secure  the  safety  and  avenge  the 
\.D.  loi.  honour  of  the  empire.  With  him  went  his 
young  kinsman  Hadrian  as  ai^Ie-de-camp  (comes  expe- 
ditionis  Dacicas),  and  the  trusted  Licinius  Sura  was  always 
by  his  side  in  the  campaign,  while  the  ablest  generals 
of  the  age  were  gathered  on  the  scene  of  action  to  win 
fresh  laurels  in  the  war. 

He  had  passed,  it  seems,  unchanged  through  the 
luxurious  life  of  Rome,  and  kept  all  the  hardihood  of 
his  earUer  habits.  His  old  comrades  saw  him  march 
bareheaded  and  on  foot,  taking  his  full  share  of  danger 
and  discomfort,  joining  in  the  mock  fight  which  varied 
the  sameness  of  the  march,  or  ready  to  give  and  take 
hard  blows  without  thought  of  personal  dignity  or  safety. 
So  retentive  was  his  memory  that  he  learnt  as  it  is  said, 


THE     BORDER     LANDS 

up  OIL  tKe 

DANUBE 


97-117.  Trajan.  29 

the  names  and  faces  even  of  the  common  soldiers  of  the 
legions,  could  speak  to  them  of  their  deeds  of  valour  or 
their  honourable  wounds,  and  make  each  feel  that  he  was 
singled  out  for  special  notice.  It  was,  they  saw,  no  mere 
holiday  campaign  such  as  Emperors  had  sometimes  come 
from  Rome  to  witness,  with  its  parade  of  unreal  victories 
and  idle  triumphs,  but  the  stern  reality  of  war  under  a 
commander  trained  in  life-long  service,  like  the  great 
generals  of  earlier  days.  Full  of  reliance  in  their  leader, 
and  in  the  high  tone  of  discipline  which  he  restored,  they 
were  eager  to  begin  the  strife  and  looked  forward  to 
success  as  sure. 

For  details  of  the  progress  of  the  war  we  may  look  in 
vain  to  the  histories  of  ancient  writers.     The 
chapters  of  Dion  Cassius  which  treated  of  it    of  the  war 
have  come  down  to  us  only  in  a  meagre  sum-    ^^monu-°°^ 
mary.     Later  epitomists  compress  into  a  page     ments  more 
the  whole  story  of  the  reign.     Monumental    ancient 
evidence   indeed  gives    more   details.      The    ^"'^^3- 
bridges,  fortresses,  and  road  works  of  Trajan  stamped 
themselves  in  local  names  upon  the  common  language 
of  the  country,  and  left  enduring  traces  which  remain  even 
to  this  day.     We  may  track  the  course  of  the  invading 
legions  by  the  inscriptions  graven  by  pious  fingers  to  the 
memory  of  the  comrades  who  had   fallen ;  and  the  cun- 
ning hands  of  artists  have  bodied  forth  to  fancy  in  a 
thousand  varied  forms  scene  after  scene  in  the  progress 
of  the  conquering  armies.     But  even  with  such  help  we 
can   draw  at  best   but   the   outline    of    the    _, 

■!    /-    .  The  course 

campaigns,  and  cannot  hope  for  any  definite    of  the 
precision.     The  forces  that  had  made  their    ^^'"P^'g"- 
way   through   Pannonia  by  different  routes,  were   first 
assembled  probably  at  Segestica  (Sissek)  on  the  Save;, 
which  Strabo  speaks  of  as  the  natural  starting  poirt  for 
a  war  in  Dacia,  and  which  had  long  before  been  strongly 


30  The  Age  of  the  Antonines. 

fortified  for  such  a  purpose.  Here  boats  could  be  drawn 
together  and  sent  down  the  stream  for  future  use.  while 
on  the  road  along  the  river's  banks,  at  which  the  legion- 
aries of  Tiberius  had  toiled  already,  new  magazines  and 
forts  were  formed  to  protect  their  communications  in  the 
rear,  and  letters  carved  upon  the  rocks  near  Ogradina 
tell  us  of  the  energy  of  Trajan's  engineers.  Moving 
steadily  to  the  eastward  they  at  last  crossed  the  Danube 
at  two  points  between  Belgrade  and  Orsova,  probably  at 
Viminacium  and  Tierna,  at  each  of  which  a  bridge  of 
boats  was  made  where  the  stream  was  at  its  narrowest. 

With  one  half  of  the  army  the  Emperor  crossed  in 
person,  the  other  was  left  to  the  command  of  Lusius 
Quietus,  a  Moor,  the  most  tried  and  trusted  of  his 
generals.  The  invaders  were  to  move  at  first  by  separate 
roads,  but  to  converge  at  the  entrance  of  the  single 
mountain  pass  which  led  to  the  stronghold  (^i  the  Dacians. 
The  enemy,  meantime,  had  made  no  effort  to  molest  them 
on  their  march,  or  to  bar  their  way  across  the  river. 

Envoys  came,  indeed,  as  if  to  treat  for  peace  ;  but  it 
was  remarked  that  they  were  men  only  of  mean  rank,  who 
wore  long  hair  and  went  bareheaded,  and 
they  were  sent  away  unheeded.  Forged  de- 
spatches, too,  were  brought  as  if  from  neighbouring  peoples 
to  urge  him  to  make  peace  and  to  begone  ;  but  Trajan, 
suspecting  treachery,  was  resolute  and  wary,  and  in  the 
spring  pushed  steadily  forward  on  his  way.  Ambassadors 
arrived  once  more,  this  time  of  the  higher  rank  that  gave 
the  privilege  of  wearing  hats  upon  their  heads,  like  the 
Spanish  grandees  who  by  special  grace  might  be  covered 
even  in  the  presence  of  the  king.  Through  them  Dece- 
balus,  their  master,  sued  for  mercy,  and  offered  to  submit 
to  any  terms  that  the  ministers  of  Trajan  might  impose.  It 
was,  however,  only  to  gain  time,  for  he  would  not  meet 
the  Roman  envoys,  but  suddenly  appeared  in  arms,  and 


97-117.  Trafan.  31 

springing  upon  the  legions  on  their  march,  closed  with 
them  at  Tapae  in  a  desperate  engagement.  The  com- 
batants were  fairly  matched,  and  fought  on  The  battle 
with  a  desperate  valour,  for  each  knew  that  ofTapse, 
their  sovereign  was  present  in  their  ranks.  The  Dacians 
at  length  were  routed,  but  the  victory  was  dearly  bought, 
for  the  battle-field  was  strewn  with  the  dying  and  the 
dead ;  there  was  not  even  lint  enough  to  dress  the  wounds 
and  the  Emperor  tore  his  own  clothes  to  pieces  to  stanch 
the  blood  of  the  men  who  lay  about  him.  The  other 
army  had  been  also  waylaid  upon  its  march,  but  beating 
its  assailants  back,  it  made  its  way  to  a  junction  with  the 
rest. 

They  had  been  moving  hitherto  since  they  left  the 
Danube  in  what  is  now  called  the  Austrian  Banat,  from 
which   Transylvania,   the  centre   of  the   old     thead- 
Dacian  kingdom,  is  parted  by  a   formidable    ^^^5^".^° 
barrier  of  mountains.     One  road  alone  passed     vania, 
through  a  narrow  rift  in  the  great  chain,  called  the  Iron 
Gate,  either  from  the  strength  of  the  steep  defiles  or  from 
the  neighbouring  mines.   Through  these  the  Romans  had 
to  pass,  like  the  travellers  of  later  days.   A  less  determined 
leader  might  have  shrunk  from  the  hazardous  enterprise 
before  him  ;  but  Trajan  pushed  resolutely  on,  seized  the 
heights  with  his  light  troops,  and  by  dint  of  hard  fighting 
cleared  a  passage  through  the  mountains. 

Where  the  narrow  valley  widens  out  into  the  open 
country  in  the  Hatszeger  Thai,  the  camp  may  still  be  seen 
where  the  Romans  lay  for  a  while  entrenched  ^^j  Roman 
to  rest  after  the  hardships  of  the  march  before  victories 
they  joined  battle  with  Decebalus  once  more.  Sarmize- 
gethusa  (V^rhely),  the  stronghold  of  the  Dacian  chieftain 
was  now  threatened,  and  in  its  defence  the  nation 
made  its  last  decisive  stand.  Once  more,  after  hard 
fighting,   they  gave   way,   and  resistance   now   seemed 


32  The  Age  of  the  Antom?ies.  a. a. 

hopeless.  The  spirit  of  their  king  was  broken,  for  his 
sister  in  a  strongly  guarded  fort  had  fallen  into  the 
invader's  power,  and  a  last  embassy  of  notables  was 
sent,  with  their  hands  tied  behind  their  backs,  in  token 
of  entire  submission.  Hard  terms  of  peace  were  offered 
and  accepted.  The  Dacian  was  to  raze  his  strongholds 
to  the  ground,  to  give  up  his  conquests  from  the  neigh- 
bouring peoples,  and  to  send  back  the  artists,  mechanics, 
and  drill  sergeants  who  had  been  enticed  across  the 
bring  the  border  to  teach  the  arts  of  peace  and  war. 
a'ciose^'^*°  He  consented  even  to  send  his  deputies  to 
A.u.  I02.  beg  the  Roman  senate  to  ratify  the  treaty  now 
agreed  on,  and  stooped  so  far  as  to  come  himself  to 
Trajan's  presence,  to  do  homage  to  his  conqueror. 

The  war  had  spread  over  two  years  already,  and  it  was 
hazardous  for  the  emperor  to  linger  so  far  and  so  long 
away  from  Rome.  Eat  he  could  not  well  have  hoped 
that  the  struggle  was  quite  ended.  Decebalus  had  been 
humbled  but  not  crushed  ;  his  own  kingdom  of  Transyl- 
vania had  not  been  overrun,  and  his  people  were  brave 
and  loyal  still.  He  might  fairly  count  on  the  alliance  ol 
his  neighbours  on  the  east,  and  even  of  the  Parthians, 
who  were  brought  together  by  their  jealousy  of  Rome. 
Soon  it  was  heard  that  he  was  stirring  to  avenge  his 
recent  losses.  The  dismantled  fortresses  were  rebuilt 
and  garrisoned  afresh  ;  lukewarm  friends  or  deserters 
from  his  cause  were  made  to  feel  his  power,  and  all  his 
skill  in  diplomacy  was  strained  to  organise  a  league  ol 
But  the  warlike  nations,  and  dispose  of  their  forces 

nonasf  "^  ii^  the  field.  Then  Trajan  knew  he  must  de- 
long,  and        lay  no  longer  if  he  would  not  see  the  work  ol 

war  broke  '  ,  i     •  •  r  ^  ^  • 

out  again.  years  crumble  mto  pieces  ;  so  after  a  breathmg 
space  of  a  few  months  he  set  out  once  more  for  the  old 
scene  of  action,  resolved  to  turn  Dacia  at  last  into  a 
tributary  province. 


97- "7- 


Trajan.  33 


He  had  first  to  meet  treachery  before  open  force  was 
t tried.  Assassins  were  sent  to  take  his  hfe  in  Mcesia 
[and  when  the  murderous  project  failed,  Longinus,  the 
[commander  of  a  contingent,  was  decoyed  under  the 
)lea  of  a  conference  with  the  Dacian  chief,  who  seized 
fand  held  him  captive  with  the  threat  that  he  would 
'only  give  him  back  alive  if  the  legions  were  withdrawn 
and  peace  secured.  The  high-souled  Roman  had  no 
wish  to  buy  his  safety  with  his  country's  loss  ;  he  would 
not  even  expose  his  sovereign  to  the  cruel  embarrass- 
ment of  choice,  but  hastened  to  meet  the  inevitable  death. 
It  was  left  to  Trajan  to  avenge  him.  His  plan  of  the 
[campaign  was  soon  matured,  and  the  needful  xrajan 
preparations    set   on    foot.      Of    these    the    made  great 

^     ^  preparations 

greatest  was  the  bridge  across  the  Danube,  and  built  a 
Not  content  with  having  one  or  more  of  boats,  st"ne*across 
such  as  were  soon  made  in  the  last  war,  he  ^^«  Danube, 
resolved  to  build  upon  a  grander  scale  a  bridge  of  stone,  or 
possibly  to  finish  one  which  had  been  begun  already  in 
the  course  of  the  first  war,  that  so  he  might  be  secured 
in  his  return  against  frost  or  a  sudden  blow.  Dion  Cassius, 
who  as  governor  of  Pannonia  in  later  years  could  see 
so  much  of  the  work  as  time  had  spared,  writes  strongly 
in  the  expression  of  his  wonder,  and  regards  it  as  the 
greatest  of  the  Emperor's  creations.  Each,  he  says,  of 
the  twenty  piers  on  which  the  arches  rested  was  60  feet 
in  breadth  and  1 50  high,  without  taking  count  of  the 
foundations.  It  was  in  ruins  in  his  time  ;  but  the  mighty 
piers  were  standing  to  show  the  greatness  of  Trajan's 
aims  and  the  skill  of  his  engineer  ApoUodorus.  Between 
the  Wallachian  Turn-Severin  near  the  town  of  Czemetz 
and  the  Servian  Cladova,  remains  may  still  be  seen  of 
what  was  probably  once  the  famous  bridge.  From  this 
point  along  the  right  bank  of  the  river  runs  an  old  Roman 
ri/dd  which  the  Wallachs  still  call  Trajan's  highway,  and 

A.  H.  D 


34  The  Age  of  tJie  Antoiiines.  a.d, 

passing  through  a  mountain  gorge  it  may  be  traced  as  far 
The  legions  as  Hermannstadt.  Where  it  entered  the  Car- 
on"Transyl-  pathians  it  was  fortified  by  works  of  which 
vania  by         the  '  Red  Towcr '  gives  its  name  to  the  whole 

various  ,..,_,.,_ 

passes,  pass,  while  '  Trajan  s  Gate '  is  still  standing  in 

memory  of  his  invading  army.  But  the  work  was  to  be 
done  thoroughly  this  time,  and  the  enemy  to  be  taken 
on  all  sides.  The  advancing  legions  tramped 
along  every  great  road  which  from  the  south 
or  west  converged  on  the  little  Dacian  kingdom  that 
lay  entrenched  within  its  fence  of  mountains.  Through 
the  Iron  Gates  and  the  Volcan  Pass  and  the  gorge  of  the 
Red  Tower  they  stormed  the  defences  raised  to  bar  their 
way,  and  after  many  a  hard  struggle  swept  their  enemies 
before  them  by  the  sheer  weight  of  steady  discipline, 
till  at  last  they  stood  in  the  heart  of  the  Dacian  king- 
dom. 

The  league  on  which  Decebalus  had  counted  came  to 
nothing  :  old  adherents  slunk  away,  and  looked-for  allies 
and  after  ^^^  stood  aloof,  SO  that  he  was  left  to  fight  on 
obstinate  unaided  to  the  bitter  end.  Tracked  like  a  wild 
cnished  the  beast  from  lair  to  lair,  he  saw  one  after  another 
?owe?*  of  his  castles  wrested  from  him,  and  only  when 

A.D.  io6.  his  chief  stronghold  could  hold  out  no  longer, 
did  he  close  the  struggle  by  a  voluntary  death. 

Many  of  his  loyal  followers  were  faithful  to  him  to 
the  last,  and  setting  fire  to  their  homes  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  the  poisoned  cup,  unwilHng  to  survive  the 
freedom  of  the  country  which  they  loved. 

When  the  last  city  had  been  stormed,  the  treasures 
of  the  fallen  Dacian,  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  passed 
into  the  victor's  hands.  In  vain  had  he  turned  aside  the 
stream  Sargetia  (Istrig)  from  its  bed,  and  had  a  secret 
chamber  for  his  hoards  built  in  the  dry  channel  by  his 
prisoners  of  war.     In  vain  had  he,  so  ran  the  story,  re 


97-117- 


Trajan.  3  5 


stored  the  current  to  its  former  bed,  and  butchered  the 
captives  when  their  work  was  done.  One  friend  and 
confidant  alone  was  left  alive,  but  he  was  languishiog  in, 
Roman  bonds,  and  told  the  story  to  buy  life  or  favour. 

The  war  was  over;  the  kingdom  of  Dacia  had 
ceased  to  be,  and  it  remained  only  to  organize  the  con- 
quest. No  time  was  lost  in  completing  and  extending  the 
great  roads  which  led  from  the  points  where  Trajan's 
bridges  had  been  built.  Strong  works  were  To  complete 
raised  for  their  defence  as  they  entered  the  Secoumry 
mountain  passes,  and  fortresses  to  command  was  colo- 
their  outlets  from  the  highlands,  while  in  the  garrisoned, 
central  spots  on  which  the  highways  converged,  new 
towns  rose  apace  with  Romanized  names  and  charters 
of  Italian  rights.  Many  of  the  old  inhabitants  who  had 
escaped  the  horrors  of  the  war  had  left  their  ruined 
homesteads,  and  bidding  farewell  for  ever  to  their 
country,  had  sought  a  shelter  among  the  kindred  races 
to  the  east ;  but  their  place  was  taken  by  the  veterans, 
who  were  rewarded  for  their  hardihood  with  pensions 
and  with  land,  while  yet  further  to  make  good  the  waste 
of  life  throughout  the  ravaged  country,  colonists  came 
streaming  at  the  Emperor's  call  from  all  the  border 
provinces,  which  were  still  full  of  hardy  peasants  only 
lately  brought  within  the  range  of  Roman  influence,  but 
now  ready  in  their  turn  to  be  the  pioneers  of  civilized 
progress  in  the  far-off  Carpathian  valleys.  After  them, 
01  even  with  the  armies,  went  the  engineers,  the  architects, 
the  artists  of  the  older  culture.  Temples  and  baths, 
aqueducts  and  theatres  rose  speedily  among  the  townships, 
and  monuments  of  every  kind  are  strewn  over  the  land, 
so  that  few  regions  have  had  more  to  tell  the  antiquarian 
than  this  last  corner  in  the  Roman  empire.  Strange  to  say, 
even  the  ancestral  faith  of  the  conquered  Dacians  was 
lost  to  view,  and  while  the  inscriptions  found  among  their 


56  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

ruins  bear  witness  to  the  exotic  rites  of  eastern  deities 
which  now  took  root  among  them,  there  are  no  tokens 
seemingly  of  the  old  national  religion. 

Nor  are  there  wanting  still  more  enduring  traces  of 

the  conquest    to   show  how   thoroughly  the   work  was 

,  ,  done.  Though  soon  exposed  to  the  pressure  of 

and  the  .  ,.  ^     .       ^  ,      ,    ,.  . 

language  of  mvadmg  races  m  the  gradual  disruption  of  the 
sir  JveTin  Roman  world,  and  torn  away  completely  from 
the  Wal-  the  rest  before  two  centuries  had  passed,  though 
Roumanian  scourged  and  pillaged  ruthlessly  by  the  Goths 
howabiding  ^^^  Huns,  the  Slavs  and  Mongols,  who  swept 
w^  her  the  land  by  turns  and  drove  its  people  to  their 

mountain  homes,  it  still  clung  to  the  memory  of 
Trajan,  and  gave  his  name  to  many  a  monument  of  force 
and  greatness,  while  the  language  of  old  Rome  planted  by 
his  colonists  survived  the  rude  shock  of  barbarous  war 
and  the  slow  process  of  decay,  and  as  spoken  by  the 
mouths  of  the  Roumans  and  the  Wallachs  of  the  Danube 
still  proves  its  undoubted  sisterhood  with  the  French  or 
the  Italian  of  our  day. 

To  commemorate  the  glory  of  successes  which  had 
given  to  the  empire  a  province  of  1,000  miles  in  circuit, 
The  monu-  ^  monument  at  Rome  seemed  neeeded  on  a 
ment  of  the  scale  of  Corresponding  grandeur.  To  find 
victory  in  room  for  it  a  space  was  cleared  on  the  high 
forum"'*  ridge  which  ran  between  the  Capitoline  and 

A.D.  112.  Quirinal  hills.  Within  this  space  a  new  forum 

was  laid  out,  and  the  skill  of  ApoUodorus,  the  greal 
designer  of  the  age,  was  tasked  to  adorn  it  worthily.  At 
the  entrance  rose  the  triumphal  arch,  of  which  some 
of  the  statuary  and  bas-reliefs  may  still  be  seen  in  the 
arch  of  Constantine,  although  disfigured  by  the  taste- 
less additions  of  a  later  age.  Opposite  was  built  the 
great  basiUca,  one  of  the  covered  colonnades  which 
served   then  for  an   exchange   and  law-court,  and  of 


97-117.  Trajan.  37 

which  the  name  was  borrowed  from  the  portico  at 
Athens,  while  the  form  lasted  on  to  set  the  type  of  the 
early  Christian  churches.  In  the  centre  of  the  forum,  as 
in  the  place  of  honour,  was  a  statue  of  the  Emperor  on 
horseback.  All  around  in  every  corner  were  statues  and 
warlike  emblems  of  the  conquest,  to  which  the  later  em- 
perors added  in  their  turn,  till  art  sunk  under  Constantine 
too  low  to  do  more  than  spoil  the  ornaments  which  it 
borrowed.  Close  by  was  the  great  library,  rich  above  all 
others  in  statute-law  and  jurisprudence,  and  graced  with 
the  busts  of  all  the  undying  dead  in  art  and  literature  and 
science. 

Far  above  all  towered  Trajan's  famous  column,  tlie 
height  of  which,  128  feet  in  all,  marked  the  quantity  of 
earth  which  had  been  cleared  away  below  the  and  tri- 
level  of  the  hill  in  the  place  of  which  the  forum  "^pJ,^J 
stood.  Twenty-three  blocks  of  marble  only  a.d.  h?. 
are  piled  upon  each  other  to  make  up  the  column^s 
shaft,  round  which  winds  in  spiral  form  the  long  series  of 
sculptured  groups,  which  give  us  at  once  a  lively  portrai 
ture  of  the  details  of  Roman  warfare  and  all  the  special 
incidents  of  the  Dacian  campaigns.  Though  we  have 
often  little  clue  to  time  or  place  or  actual  circumstance, 
still  we  can  follow  from  the  scenes  before  us  the  invading 
army  on  the  march,  see  them  cross  each  river  on  their 
bridge  of  boats,  force  their  way  through  rock  and  forest, 
storm  and  burn  the  strongholds  of  the  enemy,  and  bring 
the  spoils  of  war  to  grace  the  triumph  of  their  leader.  We 
can  distinguish  the  trousered  Dacians  with  their  belted 
tunics,  skirmishing  outside  their  quarters,  over  which 
flies  the  national  symbol  of  the  dragon,  while  the  stock- 
ades are  decked  with  the  ghastly  skulls  torn  from  their 
fallen  enemies.  Their  ferocity  is  pictured  to  our  fancy 
in  the  scene  where  the  Roman  corpses  are  mangled  on 
their  chariot  wheels,  or  where  their  women  gather  round 


3^  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

the  captive  legionary  and  hold  the  lighted  torches  to  his 
limbs.  We  see  them  sue  for  pardon  with  their  out- 
stretched hands,  or  wend  their  way  in  sad  procession 
from  their  homes,  with  wives  and  children,  flocks  and 
herds,  turning  their  backs  upon  their  devastated  country, 
or  when  driven  like  wild  beasts  to  bay,  crowd  round  the 
poisoned  goblet  and  roll  in  the  agonies  of  death  upon 
the  ground. 

This  monument,  the  crowning  glory  of  the  splendid 
forum,  is  left  to  us  well-nigh  unscathed  by  the  ravages  of 
^  ^  time,  save  that  the  gilding  and  the  colours 
column  is  have  faded  almost  wholly  from  the  sculpture, 
Kwifo?^  and  that  Trajan's  statue  which  once  took  its 
which  Con-  Stand  by  natural  right  upon  the  top  has  been 
looked  with  replaced  by  that  of  the  Apostle  Peter.  Little 
/^mkn^"'  remains  to  us  of  all  the  rest,  but  we  may 
Marcell.  judge  somewhat  of  our  loss  by  the  terms  in 
XVI.  lo.  which  an  old  historian  describes  the  scene  as 

it  first  met  the  eyes  of  the  Emperor  Constantius  at  his 
entry  into  Rome  two  centuries  later.  He  gazed  with 
wonder,  we  are  told,  at  the  historic  glories  of  the  ancient 
city,  but  when  he  came  to  Trajan's  forum  he  stood  speech- 
less for  awhile  with  admiration  at  a  work  which  seemed 
to  rise  far  above  the  power  of  words  to  paint  or  the  art 
of  later  days  to  copy.  In  despair  of  doing  anything  so 
great  as  what  he  looked  on,  he  said  at  last  that  he  would 
rest  content  with  having  a  horse  made  to  match  the  one 
which  carried  Trajan.  But  Hormisdas,  a  Persian  noble 
who  was  standing  at  his  side,  said,  '  It  would  be  well  to 
build  the  stable  first,  for  your  horse  should  be  lodged  as 
royally  as  the  one  which  we  admire/ 
The  con-  While    the    conquering    eagles    were    thus 

quest  of  borne  over  new  lands  in  the  far  north,  the 

frontier  line  was  also  carried  forward  on  the 
south.     Cornelius   Palma,  the  regent  of  Syria  marched 


97-117-  Trajan.  59 

over  the  sandy  deserts  of  Arabia,  which  had  never  seen 
the  arms  of  Rome  since  drought  and  pestilence  beat  back 
the  soldiers  of  Augustus.  The  country  of  the  Idumat^an 
Petra  was  subdued,  and  imperial  coins  of  this  ^.d.  105  to 
period  pourtray  Arabia  in  woman's  form  offer-  io7- 
ing  to  Trajan  incense  and  perfumes  in  token  of  submission, 
while  the  fame  of  these  successes  brought  embassies  to 
sue  for  peace  from  countries  hitherto  unknown. 

The  triumph  that  followed  all  these  victories  was  one 
of  extraordinary  splendour  and  ferocity.  For  one  hundred 
and  twenty  days  the  long  round  of  bloody  spectacles  went 
on  :  wild  beasts  of  every  kind  died  by  thousands  in  the 
circus,  and  the  prisoners  of  war  fenced  with  each  other  in 
their  bloody  sport  till  the  idle  populace  was  gratified  and 
sated  by  the  offering  of  some  ten  thousand  lives. 

And  now  for  years  Trajan  and  the  world  had  peace, 
broken  only  perhaps  by  a  short  campaign  against  the  Par- 
thians,  to  which  some  questionable  evidence  of  medals 
and  church  writers  seems  to  point,  although  secular  his- 
tory is  wholly  silent  on  the  subject. 

There  was  enough  indeed  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
meantime.  The  cares  of  office  on  so  vast  a  scale,  the 
oversight  of  so  much  ministerial  work,  the  grandiose 
constructions  in  the  capital  and  throughout  Italy,  the 
plans  for  future  usefulness  and  charity  described  already, 
formed  labour  enough  for  any  single  mind.  There  was  no 
(bar  therefore  that  his  powers  should  rust  away  from  in- 
action in  a  time  of  peace.  But  there  might  possibly  be 
dangers  of  another  sort.  To  this  period  belong  seem- 
ingly the  rumours  of  traitorous  designs  and  plots  against 
his  life,  to  which  he  gave  indeed  no  open  credence,  but 
loftily  professed  his  disregard,  which  may,  however,  have 
ruffled  the  calm  even  of  his  resolute  nature,  and  sickened 
him  of  longer  stay  at  Rome.  For  there  was  something 
feverish  in  the  life  of  the  great  city ;  the  air  was  charged 


40  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

with  thunder  clouds  which  might  burst  at  any  moment. 
Few  of  the  rulers  who  had  lived  before  him  but  had  cause 
to  fear  the  fickle  passions  of  the  populace  or  guards,  or 
the  jealousy  of  unscrupulous  intriguers. 

Once  more  therefore  he  resolved  on  war,  in  part  per- 
haps from  the  feehngs  of  disquietude  at  home,  in  part  it 
may  be  from  the  overweening  sense  of  absolute  power, 
and  the  restlessness  of  the  great  conqueror,  spurred  on 
by  his  ambition  for  more  glory. 

There  was  one  rival  only  of  historic  name,  the  Parthian 
empire  of  the  east,  and  with  that  it  was  not  hard  to  pick 
War  de-  ^  quarrel.  Its  sovereign  Chosroes  had  lately 
dared  claimed  to  treat  Armenia  as  a  dependent  fief, 

iparthia,  and  had  set  a  nephew  of  his  own  upon  the 

A.D.  113,  throne,  though  the  Romans  had  long  looked 
upon  it  as  a  vassal  kingdom,  and  Nero  as  a  suzerain  had 
set  the  crown  upon  its  prince's  head.  No  time  was  lost 
in  resenting  the  affront,  and  instant  war  was  threatened 
if  the  intruder  did  not  withdraw  his  forces  from  Armenia, 
and  leave  the  new-made  monarch  to  his  fate.  The  pre- 
text was  caught  at  the  more  gladly,  as  on  this  side  only  of 
the  empire  was  the  frontier  line  still  undecided,  and  an 
organized  power  was  left  in  arms  to  menace  the  boundaries 
of  Rome. 

Once  more  the  note  of  preparation  sounded  for 
the  war,  the  arsenals  were  all  astir,  and  the  tramp  of  the 
advancing  legions  was  heard  along  the  highways  of  the 
east.  Before  long  the  Emperor  himself  was  on  his  way 
to  take  the  field  in  person  with  his  troops  ;  but  at  Athens, 
where  he  halted  for  a  time,  he  was  met  by  the  ambassa- 
dors who  came  to  sue  for  peace  and  offer  presents,  and 
beg  him  in  their  master's  name  to  accept  the  homage  of 
another  kinsman  in  place  of  the  one  who  had  already  for- 
feited the  kingdom  which  was  given  him.  For  the  Par- 
thians  were  no  longer  in  the  heyday  of  their  national 


97-117. 


Trajan.  41 


nen  m 


vigour,  as  when  they  shattered  the  hosts  of  Crassiis  on 
the  fatal  field  of  Carrhae,  or  swept  almost  without  a  check 
through  western  Asia  and  drove  M.  Antonius  back 
from  a  fruitless  and  inglorious  campaign.  Three  cen- 
turies ago  they  had  made  themselves  a  name  in  his- 
tory by  humbling  the  dynasty  of  Syria  ;  the  energy  of 
conquest  had  carried  them  from  their  highland  homes 
and  sent  the  thrones  of  Asia  topphng  down  whose 
before  them,  till  all  from  the  Euphrates  to  the    ''""ength 

^  ,     '      ,  ,     ,     .  ,  w^s  then . 

Oxus  and  Hydaspes  owned  their  sway  ;  but  its  decay, 
now  the  tide  had  spent  its  force  and  the  great  empire 
was  slowly  sinking  to  decay.  Like  the  Turks  of  later 
days  they  had  no  genius  to  organize  or  to  create,  but 
were  at  best  an  aristocracy  of  warlike  clans,  lording  it 
over  subject  peoples,  full  of  their  pride  of  race  and  bar- 
barous disdain  of  all  the  arts  of  civilized  progress,  en- 
camped awhile  among  the  great  historic  cities  of  the  past, 
but  only  to  waste  and  to  destroy.  The  currents  of  the 
national  lifeblood  now  flowed  feebly  ;  the  family  feuds 
of  the  Arsacidse,  the  ruling  line,  threatened  to  distract 
their  forces,  and  they  could  scarcely  make  good  with  the 
sword  their  right  to  what  the  sword  alone  had  won. 

Trajan  knew  possibly  something  of  their  weakness,  or 
expressed  only  the  self-reliance  of  his  own  strong  will, 
when  he  answered  the  envoys  in  a  haughty  strain,  telling 
them  that  friends  were  secured  by  deeds  and  not  by  fair 
words,  and  that  he  would  take  such  action  as  seemed  good 
when  he  arrived  upon  the  scene.  From  Athens  he  went 
forward  on  his  way  to  the  fortress  of  Seleucia,  the 
key  of  Syria,  proud  of  the  memory  of  its  xrajan 
famous  siege,  and  of  the  gift  of  Roman  free-    arrives  at 

,      ;  ,    .  .        _.  Antioch 

dom  won  by  its  stout  defence  agamst  Tigranes.     jan.  a. d. 
Thence  he  marched  to  the  neighbouring  An-    "'*' 
tioch,  in  whose  crowded  streets  the  social  currents  of  the 
East  and  West  were  blended,  the  city  where  the  name  of 


4-2  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

Christian  was  first  heard,  but  where  also  the  cypress  groves 
of  Daphne  were  the  haunts  of  infamous  debauchery  in 
rehgion's  name.  Thither  came  ambassadors  to  ask  for 
peace ;  the  satraps  and  petty  chieftains  met  him  on  his 
way,  and  swore  fealty  to  their  lord  and  master. 

He  passed  on  to  the  Euphrates,  and  no  one  appeared 
in  arms  to  bar  his  road.  The  new  Arsacid  in  Armenia,  so 
and  lately  seated  on  the  throne,  had  sent  already 

th%ug*h  n\Qx^  than  once  to  Trajan.  But  his  first  letter 

Armenia,  was  written  in  lofty  style  as  to  a  brother  king, 
and  was  therefore  left  without  an  answer  ;  the  second 
struck  a  lower  note,  and  offered  to  do  homage  through 
the  governor  of  a  neighbouring  province.  Even  this  the 
Emperor  scarcely  deigned  to  notice,  would  not  even  for  a 
time  displace  the  official  from  his  post,  but  merely  sent 
the  governor's  son  to  bear  this  answer. 

Before  long  the  legions  in  their  march  had  crossed 
the  confines  of  Armenia  ;  the  towns  by  which  they  passed 
were  occupied  without  a  blow,  and  the  princely  Partha- 
masiris  was  summoned  to  his  master's  presence  in  the 
, .  heart  of  the  country  that  was  lately  all  his  own. 
Parthama?'  There  on  a  lofty  seat  sat  Trajan  on  the  earth- 
to"the'^?rmp  works  raised  for  the  entrenchments  of  the 
to  do  camp,  while  the  legions  stood  around  as  on 

mir.ge,  parade.  The  prince  bowed  low  before  the 
throne,  and  laid  his  diadem  before  the  Emperor's  feet, 
then  waited  silently  in  hope  to  see  it  replaced  with 
graceful  courtesy  upon  his  head.  But  he  hoped  and 
waited  all  in  vain ;  the  soldiers  who  stood  near  raised 
a  shout  of  triumph  at  his  act  of  self-abasement,  and 
startled  at  the  din  he  turned  as  if  in  act  to  fly,  but  only 
to  find  himself  girt  in  by  armed  battalions,  from  whom 
escape  seemed  hopeless.  Regaining  self-control  he 
begged  to  be  received  in  private  interview  ;  but  baffled 
oi  his  hopes,  he  turned  at  last  with  anger  and  despair  to 


Trajan.  43 


97-117. 

quit  the  camp.      Before  he  had  gone  far  he  was  recalled, 
Drought  once  more  before   the  throne,   and  bidden  to 
make  his  suit  in  the  hearing  of  the  legions.     Then  at  last 
the  chieftain's  pride  took  fire  and  he  gave  his  indignation 
vent.     He  came,  he  said,  not  as  a  conquered 
foeman  or  a  humble  vassal,  but  of  his  free    deposed, 
choice  to   court  the  majesty  of  Rome.     He    ^hin'heV 
had  laid  his  crown  down  as  a  token  of  respect,     tempted  to 
but  looked  to  have  his  kingdom  given  him 
again,  as  to  Tiridates  in  like  case  from  Nero's  hands. 
The  Emperor's  reply  was  stern  and  brief.     Armenia  was 
to  be  henceforth  a  Roman  province  and  its  line  of  kings 
was  closed  ;  but  for  the  rest  the  ex-monarch   and   his 
followers  might  go  safely  where  they  pleased.     But  the 
Armenian  prince  was  too  high-spirited  to  yield  without 
a  struggle ;  he  flew  to  arms,  it  seems,  and     c.  Fronto, 
was  slain  soon  after  at  a  word  from  Trajan,     P""*^-  ^'^^• 
who  had  not  generosity  enough  to  spare  the  rival  whom 
he  had  humbled. 

Then  a  panic  spread  through  all  the  courts  of  Asia 
P'rom  far-off  regions,  little  known  before,  came  humble 
offers  of  submission  to  the  invader  who  was  so  masterful 
and  stern  ;  and  wary  intriguers,  who  had  kept  away 
before,  found  to  their  dismay  that  they  could 

'  ,  ■,••.,  1  •  General 

not  longer  play  upon  him  with  ambiguous  terror  and 
words.  The  distant  chiefs  indeed  were  allowed  f^^lJ'j^^'"" 
to  hold  their  own,  but  in  all  the  country  be-  neighbour- 
tween  the  two  great  rivers  in  the  track  of  the  *"S  ponces, 
advancing  army,  the  native  princes  were  deposed  and 
Roman  governors  took  their  place. 

Meantime  the  postal  service  had  been  organized  with 
special  care.  On  the  great  roads  that  led  to  Rome 
carriages  and  relays  of  horses  conveyed  the  couriers  with 
their  state  despatches  ;  and  the  great  city  traced  from 
week  to  week  the  course  of  the  campaign  through  scenes 


44  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

beyond  the  range  of  their  experience  or  fancy,  listening 

with  a  lively  wonder  to  the  lengthening  tale  of  bloodless 

conquests.    The  Senate  vainly  tried  to  find  a  list  of  fitting 

^^  honours  for  their  prince ;  they  voted  the  solemn 

triumph  at      services  and  days  of  thanksgiving,  and  called 

Rome.  j^.j^  Parthicus  as  they  had  styled  him  Dacius 

after  the  last  war,  but  above  all  other  titles  of  their  choice 

he  prided   himself  the  most  on  that  of  Optimus  (the 

Best),  linked  as  it  was  in  popular  fancy  with  the  name  of 

Jupiter,  mightiest  of  the  gods  of  Rome,  and  pointing  as 

he  seemed  to  think  more  to  the  graces  of  his  character 

than  to  the  glories  of  his  arms. 

But  the  gladness  of  the  general  triumph,  both  at  home 

and  at  the  seat  of  war,  was  rudely  broken  by  the  tidings 

„     ,  of  a  great  disaster.     While  the  soldiers  were 

But  the  .        n  1    .      ,  ,  .        ,    . 

great  earth-     restmg  from  their    labours  m  their  winter 

Am&ch*         quarters,  an   earthquake  of   appalling    force 

spread  ruin      shook    many  of    the    towns    of   Asia,  and 

Siong  Tra-     marked  its  power  at  Antioch  by  features  of 

Sec.  i^'       especial  horror.     The  fair  city  was  at  all  times 

A.D^  IIS-         a  teeming  hive  of  population  ;  merchants  and 

mariners  of  every  land  were  crowded  in  its 

port  on  t^e  Orontes  ;  art  and  luxury  and  learning  drew 

the    votaries   of    fashion    to    the    great    Broadway  of 

Epiphanes  which  ran  its  level  course  four  miles  in  length, 

with   spacious  colonnades  on  either  side.      But  at  this 

time  especially  the  Emperor's  presence  brought  a  more 

than  usual  concourse  thither.      Soldiers  and   courtiers, 

litigants  and  senators,  sightseers  and  traders  jostled  each 

other  in  the  streets  and  mingled  the  languages  of  East 

and  West.   The  more  fatal  therefore  was  the  sudden  blow 

(vhich  carried  sorrow  and  bereavement  to  men's  homes 

in  every  land.     We  need  not  dwell  upon  the  too  familiar 

features  of  all  the  great  earthquakes  that  we  hear  of. 

Here,  too,  we  read  of  the  mysterious  rumblings  under- 


97-117.  Trajan.  45 

ground,  of  the  heaving  and  the  rocking  earth,  of  the 
houses  crashing  into  ruins  and  burying  their  inmates  in 
the  wreck,  of  the  few  survivors  disinterred  at  List  from 
what  might  have  been  their  tomb.  It  adds  little  to  the 
genuine  horrors  of  the  scene  to  be  told  in  the  fanciful 
language  of  a  later  writer  of  the  babe  found  sucking  at 
the  breast  of  the  mother  who  was  cold  and  dead,  or  of 
the  unknown  visitor  of  unearthly  stature  who  beckoned 
the  Emperor  from  the  place  of  danger  to  the  open  ground 
within  the  circus,  where  he  stayed  for  days  till  the  earth- 
quake passed  away- 

But  the  thoughts  of  the  soldiers   were  soon  called 
away  from  these  memories  of  gloom  and  desolation.     In 
early  spring  once  more  the  Emperor  took  the     pj^  ^^^^  ^j^^ 
field  with  overwhelming  forces.    1 1  was  no  easy    ^^f-^"^' 
task,  indeed,  to  cross  the  rapid  current  of  the    the  Tigris 
Tigris  in  the  face  of  an  enemy  drawn  up  in    ^"'  "'^' 
arms  upon  the  bank,  and  in  a  country  where  no  timber  grew 
for  rafts.     But  through  the  winter  months  the  highland 
forests  had  been  felled  far  up  the  river  ;  shipbuiJders  had 
been  busy  with  their  work,  and  boats  were  brought  in 
pieces   to  the  water's  edge,  where  they  were  joined  to- 
gether and  floated  down  the  stream  to  the  point  chosen 
for  the  passage.     Then  the  flotillas  suddenly  appeared  in 
swarms  before  the  eyes  of  the  startled  natives,  and  manned 
by  overpowering  numbers,  pushed  rapidly  across  the  river, 
and  dislodged  the  thin  lines  that  stood  to  bar    ^^^^^^ 
the  way.    The  Parthians,  struck  with  panic  at     all  before 
their  resolute  advance  or  distracted  by  civil 
feuds,  were  swept  away  before  them,  and  scarcely  fronted 
them  again  that  year  to  strike  a  blow  for  independence. 

Onward  the  legions  tramped  in  steady  progress,  but 
their  march  was  a  triumphal  pageant.  They  neared  the 
ruins  of  Nineveh,  capital  of  the  Assyria  of  ancient  story ; 
passed  by  the  battle-field  of  Arbela,  where  the  phalanx  ol 


46  The  Age  cf  the  Antonmes.  a.d. 

Alexander  routed  the  multitudinous  hosts  of  Persia  : 
at  Babylon  they  saw  the  wonders  done  of  old  by  the 
builders  and  engineers  of  early  despots.  Ctesiphon, 
with  the  winter  palace  of  the  Parthian  king,  fell  into  their 
hands,  with  the  neighbouring  Seleucia,  that  still  retained 
the  semblance  of  a  shadowy  republic,  though  a  royal 
fortress  towered  above  it.  Not  content  with  sweeping  all 
before  them  in  Assyria,  they  pushed  onward  yet  to  Susa, 
the  old  residence  of  Persian  monarchs.  The  daughter 
of  the  Parthian  king  became  a  captive  ;  his  throne  of 
beaten  gold  was  sent  as  a  trophy  to  the  Roman  Senate, 
which  heard  the  exciting  tidings  that  one  after  another 
the  great  cities  of  historic  fame  had  passed  under  the 
Emperor's  sway,  who  was  following  in  the  steps  of  Alex- 
ander and  pining  for  more  worlds  to  conquer.  Indeed, 
and  pushed  old  as  he  was,  he  seemed  possessed  with 
the^pSsiS  ^^  daring  of  adventurous  youth.  Taking 
Gulf.  ship,   we  read,  on  the  Euphrates,  he  let  the 

current  bear  him  to  its  mouth,  and  there  upon  the  shores 
of  ocean  saw  the  merchant-boats  set  sail  for  India, 
the  land  of  fable  and  romance,  and  dreamed  of  enter- 
prises still  to  come  in  countries  where  the  Roman  eagles 
were  unknown. 

But  his  career  of  triumph  was  now  closed,  and  the 
few  months  of  life  which  still  were  left  to  him  were 
clouded  with  the  gloom  of  failure  and  disaster.  While 
he  was  roaming  as  a  knight-errant  in  quest  of  adventures 
far  away,  the  conquered  countries  were  in  arms  once 
But  the  more.     The  cities  of  Assyria  rose  against  his 

q1iered*^°"  garrisons  as  soon  as  the  spell  of  his  name 
r^ii'his  ^^^  presence  was  removed  ;  Arabia  and 
rear,  Edessa  flung  off  their    allegiance  ;    and  the 

Jews  of  Cyrenaica,  Egypt,  and  Cyprus  sprung  in  Wind 
fury  at  their  Roman  masters,  as  if  to  avenge  the  cruelties 
practised  long  ago  in  Palestine  by  Titus.     This   fierce 


97-117. 


Trajan.  47 


explosion  of  fanatic  zeal  from  a  people  girt  about  by 
alien  races  was  hopeless,  of  course,  and  sternly  repressed 
with  fire  and  sword.  To  secure  his  hold  on  Parthia 
the  Emperor  set  up  a  puppet-king,  and  crowned  him 
with  great  parade  at  Ctesiphon,  but  could  not  give  him 
the  right  to  claim  or  the  force  to  secure  the  loyalty  of  an 
unwiUing  nation.  His  generals  marched  with  dubious 
success  against  the  cities  that  had  risen  in  revolt,  while 
he  took  the  field  himself  against  a  petty  and  he 
power  of  the  south,  whose  only  strength  lay  Jegafn'his 
in   the   desert  in    which  it  was  entrenched,     hold  upon 

,.      ,  ,    .         ,  .  ,,    ,  .         ,1      them  before 

He    displayed  m   the   campaign  all  his   old     his  failing 
hardihood   and  valour,  and   led  more    than    JS^rnffhim 
once  his  horsemen  to  the  charge ;  but  heat    to  retire. 
and  drought  and  sickness  baffled  all  his  efforts,  and  drove 
him  back  at  last  with  tarnished  fame  and  ruined  health. 

Once  more  he  talked  of  marching  to  chastise  the 
rebels  in  Chaldea,  but  his  strength  was  failing  fast,  and 
it  was  time  to  leave  the  scenes  where  he  had  won  so 
much  of  fruitless  glory,  and  swept  all  before  him  like  a 
passing  storm.  He  set  his  face  towards  Italy  upon  his 
homeward  way  ;  but  the  long  journey  was  too  much  for 
his  enfeebled  frame,  and  he  sank  down  at  Selinus  in 
Cilicia,  after  nearly  twenty  years  of  monarchy  and  more 
than  sixty  of  a  stirring  life. 

So  died  the  strongest  and  the  justest  of  the  imperial 
rulers  whom  Rome  had  seen  as  yet.     Only  in  the  last 
war  can    we  see  the  traces  of  the  despot's     ^e  died  at 
arrogance  and  vainglory.     The  Dacian  cam-     Selinus, 

.  .1  1,  -ir  1    .  August  117. 

paigns  might  well  seem  needful  to  secure  a 
frontier  and  chastise  an  insolent  aggressor  ;  and  to  the 
soldier's  eye,  perhaps,  there  was  a  danger  that,  after  a 
century  of  peace,  the  Roman  empire  might     His  charac 
settle  on  its  lees,  and  lose  its  enf^rgy  and  self-     *'='■• 
respect.    At  home,  in  the  routine  of  civil  govermiicnt  he 


48  The  Age  of  tlie  Antonines,  a.d. 

was  wary  and  vigilant  and  self-restrained,  rising  as  ruler 
and  as  judge  above  the  suspicion  of  personal  bias  and 
caprice,  promptly  curbing  the  wrong-doer  and  checking 
the  officious  zeal  of  his  own  ministers.  He  was  natural 
and  unaffected  in  the  gentle  courtesies  of  common  life, 
cared  little  for  the  outer  forms  of  rank,  and  was  easy 
of  access  to  the  meanest  of  his  people. 

Dion  Cassius,  who  never  fails  to  insist  upon  the 
darker  side  of  every  character  which  he  describes,  says 
that  he  was  lascivious  in  feeling,  and  given  to  habits  of 
hard  drinking,  but  owns  that  he  can  find  no  record  of 
any  wrong  or  harm  done  by  him  in  such  moods.  The  re- 
fined Pliny  paints  for  us  a  different  picture  of  the  social 
life  in  which  he  took  a  part.  Coming  fresh  from  the 
meetings  of  the  privy  council  held  for  some  days  in  the 
Emperor's  villa,  he  tells  us  how  he  spent  the 
time  at  court.  The  fare,  it  seems,  was  some- 
what simple;  there  was  no  costly  show  of  entertainments; 
but  public  readings  amused  the  guests,  and  literary  dis- 
cussions followed  with  pleasant  converse  far  into  the  night. 

Through  the  great  monuments  which  were  called  after 
liis  name,  Trajan  stood  to  the  fancy  of  the  middle  ages 
His  great  as  a  personal  symbol  of  the  force  and  gran- 
J'orks^of  art  ^^ur  of  old  Rome ;  but  art  and  poetry  brought 
powerfully  him  forward  also  as  the  favourite  type  of 
naVra^S^'  heathen  justice.  A  scene  in  the  sculptures 
later  ages.  Qf  j^jg  forum  represented  him  as  starting  for 
the  wars,  while  a  woman  was  bending  low  with  piteous 
gesture  at  his  feet.  Out  of  this  a  legend  grew  that  a  poor 
widow  came  to  him  to  ask  for  vengeance  on  the  soldiers 
Taken  as  a  who  had  killed  her  son.  '  When  I  come  back 
hShen  jus-  I  wiH  listen  to  your  suit,'  the  Emperor  said, 
tice  in  <  ^nd  who  wiU  right  me  if  you  die  ? '  was  the 

legend  and  ,  ,  ,,  ^       t^r 

art.  reply.      *  My  successor.'      *  Your  successor ; 

yesj  but  his  act  will  not  profit  you,  and  it  were  better 


97-117.  Trajan,  49 

surely  to  do  the  good  yourself  and  to  deserve  the  recom- 
pense that  will  follow.'  Trajan's  heart,  so  ran  the  story, 
was  touched  by  the  widow's  earnest  plea  :  he  waited 
patiently  to  hear  her  case,  and  would  not  leave  till  she 
had  justice  done  her.  Such  is  the  form  the  legend  takes 
in  the  poetry  of  Dante,  and  it  is  with  this     „ 

.  ,  ,  .  ,  ,  Purg.  X. 

meaning  that  the  scene  was  pictured  to  the 
fancy  in  many  a  work  of  later  art,  such  as  that  which  we  still 
may  see  at  Venice  in  one  of  the  capitals  of  the  Doge's  palace. 
It  was  a  favourite  addition  to  the  story  that  Gregory 
the  Great  was  so  moved  with  sympathy  when  it  was  told 
him  that  he  prayed  for  the  soul  of  the  old  pagan,  who, 
having  not  the  law,  was  yet  a  law  unto  himself.  That 
very  night  he  saw  a  vision  in  his  sleep,  and  heard  that, 
m  answer  to  his  prayer,  the  soul  of  Trajan  had  winged  its 
flight  to  join  the  spirits  of  the  blest. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HADRIAN,  A.D.    II7-I38. 

From  the  story  of  the  frank  and  earnest  Trajan,  we  turn 
with  a  strange  sense  of  contrast  to  the  life  and  character 
of  his  successor,  one  of  the  most  versatile  and    r^,        ,. 

'  The  earlier 

paradoxical   of  men.      Of  the   career   of   P.     life  of 
/Ehus  Hadrianus,  little  is  known  to  us  for  the       ^  "^"^ 
forty  years  before  he  gained  the  throne,  and  the  meagre 
tale  may  be  soon  told. 

Born  himself  at  Rome,  he  came  of  a  family  which 
drew  its  name  from  Hadria  in  Northern  Italy,  but  had 
been  settled  for  centuries  in  Spain.  Losing  his  father  at 
an  early  age,  he  came  under  the  care  of  Trajan,  his  near 
kinsman,  and  after  a  few  years,  in  which  he  made  such 
rapid  progress  in  his  studies  as  to  be  called  '  the  little 
Greekling,'  he  took  to  hunting  with  such  passion  as  to 

A.M.  fi 


50  'File  Age  of  the  Auto  nines.  a.d. 

need  a  check,  and  was  therefore  put  at  once  into  the 
army,  a.nd  taken  by  his  guardian  to  the  wars.  The  news 
of  Nerva's  death  found  him  in  Upper  Germany  at  a  dis- 
tance from  his  kinsman,  and  he  was  the  first  to  carry  to 
him  the  tidings  of  his  accession  to  the  empire,  outstrip- 
ping, though  on  foot,  the  courier  sent  by  his  sister's  hus- 
band Servianus,  who  had  contrived  to  make  his  carriage 
break  down  upon  the  way. 

The  same  relative  tried  also  to  make  mischief  by 
calling  Trajan's  notice  to  the  debts  and  youthful  follies  of 
his  ward ;  but  Hadrian  still  had  influence  at  court,  and 
stood  high  in  the  good  graces  of  Plotina,  married  by 
her  help  the  Emperor's  grand-niece,  and  had  a  legion 
given  him  to  command  in  the  second  Dacian  war.  In 
this,  as  afterwards  in  Pannonia  and  Parthia,  his  gal- 
lantry and  powers  of  discipline  were  spoken  of  with 
marked  approval ;  powerful  friends  began  to  rally  round 
him  at  the  court,  and  to  think  of  him  and  act  for  him  as 
a  possible  successor  to  the  throne.  But  no  decisive  word 
was  uttered  to  encourage  friends  or  to  alarm  his  rivals, 
His  sudden  ^^^  ^  "P  ^°  ^^  ^^^^  were  in  suspense,  till 
elevation  to  he  heard  suddenly  in  Syria,  where  Trajan  had 
caused  ugly  left  him  in  command,  first,  that  the  emperor 
rumours,  j^^^^  named  him  as  his  heir,  and  then  a  few 
days  afterwards  that  the  post  of  monarchy  was  vacant. 
So  sudden  was  the  act  as  to  give  rise  to  ugly  rumours. 
Plotina,  it  was  whispered,  who  loved  him  fondly  if  not 
wisely,  had  tampered  for  his  sake  with  her  dying  hus- 
band's will,  had  even  kept  his  death  a  secret  for  a  time, 
and  written  with  her  own  hand  the  letters  to  the  Senate 
which  named  Hadrian  his  heir.  But  in  what  we  read 
elsewhere  about  Plotina  she  appears  as  a  type  of 
womanly  dignity  and  honour,  and  the  story  serves  best 
perh  ips  to  illustrate  the  licence  of  court  scandal  which 
absolute  monarchy  so  often  fosters. 


1 1 7-138.  Hadrian.  51 

The  first  acts  of  the  new  soyereign  were  temperate 
and  wary.  His  letters  to  the  Senate  were  full  of  filial 
respect  for  Trajan  and  regard  for  constitutional  usage. 
He  excused  himself  because  the  soldiers  in  their  haste 
had  hailed  him  Emperor  without  waiting  for  their  sanction, 
asked  for  divine  honours  for  the  departed  ruler,  whose 
remains  he  went  to  look  upon  with  dutiful  affection,  and 
,>ent  to  be  enshrined  within  the  famous  column  in  the 
forum.  Declining  the  triumph  for  himself,  he  had  Trajan's 
likeness  borne  in  state  along  the  streets  in  the  pageant  that 
was  to  do  honour  to  his  exploits.  But  for  all  that.  Hadrian 
was  in  no  mood  to  follow  in  his  steps,  had  no  wish  to 
copy  his  love  of  war  or  his  imperial  ambition.  His  mode- 
On  every  frontier  hostile  races  were  in  arms  ;  S'-J."  of^ 
in  far-off  Britain  as  well  as  in  the  East,  among  peace 
the  Moors  of  Africa  and  among  the  bold  races  of  the 
north  there  were  rumours  of  invasion  or  revolt.  There 
was  no  lack  of  opportunities,  nor,  indeed,  of  armies 
trained  to  conquest ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  tempted  with 
the  hope  of  military  laurels,  and  his  constant  policy  was 
one  of  peace.  He  withdrew  at  once  the  weak  pre- 
tender forced  upon  the  Parthians  by  the  arms  of 
Rome,  and  left  all  the  lands  beyond  the  Tigris  where  no 
western  colonists  had  any  claims  upon  his  care.  It  was 
far  otherwise  in  Dacia,  in  which  peaceful  settlers  had 
found  a  home  for  years,  and  strongholds  had  been  gar- 
risoned for  their  defence.  It  would  seem  therefore  most 
unlikely  that  he  thought  of  drawing  back  his  troops  from 
the  strong  mountain  barrier  of  Transylvania,  and  of  leav- 
ing the  new  province  to  its  fate.  Later  writers,  reflecting 
possibly  the  discontent  of  Trajan's  generals,  said  indeed 
that  he  was  minded  to  do  this,  and  that  he  had  ac- 
tually begun  to  break  the  bridge  across  the  Danube  ; 
but  the  facts  remain,  that  the  language  and  the  arts 
of  Rome   steadily  gained  ground   upon   that    northern 


52  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.t>. 

border,  and  that  Hadrian  surrendered  nothing  which  was 
worth  retaining.  For  the  rest,  in  other  parts  of  the  great 
empire,  he  was  content  to  restore  order,  and  waged  no 
offensive  warfare. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  not  only  had  he  personal  hardi- 
hood and  valour,  and  was  ready  on  the  march  to  face  the 
was  accom-     heat  and  labours  of  the  day  like  the  meanest 

panied  by  soldicr  in  the  ranks,  but  he  always  with  watch- 
personal  ..',-.  .  .  , 
hardihood       lul  care  maintamed  his  armies  m  a  state  oi 

regard"or  vigour  and  efficiency  that  seldom  had  been 
discipline,  rivalled.  He  swept  away  with  an  unsparing 
hand  the  abuses  of  the  past,  and  insisted  on  the  austere 
discipline  of  ancient  days,  putting  down  with  peremptory 
sternness  the  luxurious  arrangements  of  the  camp,  which 
even  in  Germany  endangered  the  soldier's  manliness  and 
self-control,  and  still  more  in  Syria,  where  the  wanton 
Antioch,  hot-bed  of  licence  as  it  was,  spread  far  around 
it  the  contagion  of  its  dissolute  and  unruly  temper.  In 
the  spirit  of  the  generals  of  olden  time  he  walked  bare- 
headed alike  through  Alpine  snows  and  in  the  scorching 
heats  of  Africa,  setting  them  thus  a  pattern  of  robust  en- 
durance. In  every  land  through  which  he  passed  he 
inspected  carefully  the  forts,  encampments,  arsenals,  and 
stores,  and  seemed  to  have  lodged  in  his  capacious 
memory  the  story  of  each  legion,  and  the  names  even  of 
the  rank  and  file. 

In  the  centre  of  Algeria  we  may  still  trace  the 
ramparts  of  a  camp  where  an  auxiliary  force  was 
The  inscrip-  Stationed  to  defend  the  border  and  to  be  the 
c^  ^"in^^  pioneers  of  civilized  progress.  On  a  column 
Lambaesis.  which  was  raised  in  the  centre  of  the  camp 
was  posted  in  monumental  characters  a  proclamation 
of  the  Emperor  to  the  soldiers  of  this  distant  outpost, 
in  which  he  dwells  upon  their  laborious  energy  and  loyal 
zeal. 


11 -7  178.  Tladnan.  53 

Thus  trained  and  organized,  his  armies  were  fonnid- 
able  weapons  for  the  hand  of  an  enterprising  leader,  but 
he  used  them  wholly  for  repression  or  defence,  and  never 
with  aggressive  aims.  Even  in  Britain,  where  the  peace- 
ful south  was  harassed  by  the  incursions  of  the  wilder 
tribes,  in  place  of  any  war  of  conquest  a  great  wall,  a 
triple  line  of  earthworks  strengthened  by  a  high  wall  of 
solid  masonry,  was  carried  for  many  a  mile  across  the 
country,  to  be  a  barrier  to  the  northern  savagery  ;  and 
fragments  of  the  work  may  still  be  seen  between 
Newcastle  and  Carlisle  to  show  how  earnestly  defence 
was  sought  by  the  ruler  who  built  on  such  a  scale. 

But  it  was  no  love  of  personal  ease  that  clipped  the 
wings   of  his  ambition.     Instead  of  staying   quietly  at 
Rome  to  take  his  pleasure,  he  was  always  on     ^^  ^j.^. 
the  move,  and  every  province  witnessed  in  its    veiled 

,  ,  ..  -,..  .,  constantly 

turn  the  restless  activity  of  his  imperial  care,  through  the 
The  coins  struck  in  his  honour  as  he  went  to  Provinces, 
and  fro  upon  his  journeys,  the  stately  monuments  and 
pubhc  works  which  were  called  into  being  by  him  as  he 
passed  along,  these  are  evidence  enough,  when  the  meagre 
accounts  of  our  historians  fail  to  tell  us,  of  the  wide  range 
of  his  long-continued  wanderings  and  of  the  benefits 
which  followed  in  his  train. 

The  empire  had  long  claimed  to  govern  in  the 
interests  of  the  provinces,  and  not  of  Rome  alone,  and 
here  at  last  was  an  Emperor  who  seemed  resolved  to  see 
with  his  own  eyes  all  his  people's  wants,  to  spend  with 
liberal  bounty  for  the  common  good,  to  reform  impartially 
the  abuses  of  old  times,  and  lay  the  heavy  rod  of  his  dis- 
pleasure upon  all  his  weak  or  faithless  servants.  To  the 
largeness  of  such  aims  there  corresponded  a  breadth  and 
manysidedness  of  character  and  powers  ;  and  few  living 
men  were  better  fitted  to  enter  with  fresh  interest  into 
the  varied  life  of  all  the  lands  through  which  he  travelled 


54  The  Age  oj  the  Antonines. 


Had  he  not  been  emperor  he  might  have  been  a  sort 
*  admirable  Crichton.'  He  had  thrown  himself  with  eager 
curiosity  into  all  the  art  and  learning  of  his  age,  and  his 
vast  memory  enabled  him  to  take  all  knowledge  for  his 
showing  in  own.  Poet,  geometer,  musician,  orator,  and 
all  a  breadth    artist,  he  had  studied  all  the  graces  and  ac- 

of  view  and  '  ,        ,  , 

largeness  of  complishments  of  liberal  culture,  knew  some- 
aLmos^t'  ^  thing  of  the  history  and  genius  of  every 
unique.  people,  could  estimate  their  literary  or  artistic 

skill,  and  admire  the  achievements  of  the  past. 

But  he  was  far  from  travelling  merely  as  an  anti- 
quarian or  art  critic,  for  he  left  in  every  land  enduring 
traces  of  his  present  care.  The  bridges,  aqueducts,  and 
theatres  were  repaired,  fresh  public  works  were  under- 
taken, municipal  accounts  were  overhauled,  the  governors' 
official  acts  reviewed,  and  every  department  of  the  public 
service  thoroughly  sifted  and  controlled.  The  imperial 
treasury  was  seen  to  gather  in  its  stores  in  the  interest  of 
the  provinces  at  large,  and  not  for  a  few  dissolute  favour- 
ites at  court  or  for  the  idle  populace  of  Rome.  To 
symbolize  in  striking  forms  his  impartial  care  for  all  his 
subjects,  he  was  ready  to  accept  local  offices  of  every 
kind,  and  discharge  by  deputy  the  magisterial  functions 
in  the  district  towns  under  every  variety  of  national  title. 

In  the  movements  of  the  imperial  tourist  there  was 
httle  luxury  or  ostentation.  He  walked  or  rode  in 
military  guise  before  his  guard,  with  his  head  un- 
covered in  all  weather,  ready  to  share  without  a  murmur 
the  legionary's  humble  fare,  and  to  bear  all  the  heat  and 
labour  of  the  day.  History  gives  us  few  details  as  to  the 
exact  course  and  order  of  his  wanderings,  but  inscriptions 
upon  bronze  and  stone  abound  with  the  tokens  of  his 
energy  in  every  land,  and  of  the  thankfulness  with 
which  each  province  hailed  the  presence  of  its  ruler. 

In  Britain,  which  had  seen  no  emperor  since  Claudius^ 


1 

tof     I 


1 1 7- 1 38.  Hadnan.  55 

he  came  to  inspect  the  menaced  frontier,  and  to  plan 
the   long  lines   of  defence   against  the  free     „,   , 

^  ■,  -I         X        A,-.  ^,,.  We  hear  of 

races  of  the  north.     In  Africa  we  find  hnn     him  iu 
soothing  the  disquiet  caused  of  late  by  the     ^'■"^*"- 
panic  fears  of  Jewish  massacres  and  Roman  vengeance. 
His  diplomacy  and  liberal  courtesies  dispel  the 
clouds  of  war  that  gather  on  the  lines  of  the       "'^^' 
Euphrates  and  are  serious  enough  to  require  his  presence 
on  the  scene.     On  the  plains  of  Troy  we  hear  of  him 
gazing  around  him  in  the  spirit  of  a  pilgrim,  and  solemnly 
burying  the  gigantic  relics  in  which  his  reverent  fancy 
saw  the  bones  of  Ajax.     The  great  towns  of  western  Asia 
are  proud  to  let  their  Emperor  see  their  wealth,    Asia 
their  industry,  their  teeming  populations ;  they    Mi"or. 
have  to  thank  him  for  many  a  public  monument  of  note, 
and  record  upon  their  coinage  in  many  a  varying  phrase 
and  symbol  his  justice,  liberahty,  and  guardian  care. 

But  it  was  in  Athens  that  he  tarried  longest,  or  hither 
he  came  most  frequently  to  find  repose  as  in  his  favourite 
home.  Here  in  the  centre  of  the  old  Hellenic  art,  he  put 
off  awhile  the  soldier  and  the  prince,  and  soothed  himself 
with  the  amenities  of  liberal  culture.     He  tried  to  fancy 
himself  back  in  the  Greek  life  of  palmier  days  ;     and  in 
he   presided  at  the  public   games,  sat  by  to     ^o'^elhan 
witness  the  feats  of  literary  skill,  raised  the    all, 
theatres  and  temples  from  their  ruins,  and  asked  to  be 
admitted  to  the  venerable  mysteries  of   their  national 
faith.     To  the  Athens  of  old  days  he  added  a     where  he 
new  quarter,  to  be  called  henceforth  Hadrian's     endowed  art 
city  ;  he  gave  it  a  new  code  of  laws  to  rival    and  learning, 
those  of  Dracon  and  of  Solon,  and  recalled  some  shadowy 
memories  of  its  days  of  sovereign  power  by  making  it 
mistress   of   the   isle    of  Kephallonia.     It  had   already 
academic  fame,  and  drew  its  scholars  from  all  lands  ;  its 
public  professorships  had  given  a  recognised  status  to 


56  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

its  studies  ;  fresh  endowments  were  bestowed  upon  its 
chairs  with  a  liberal  hand,  and  nothing  was  spared  for 
the  encouragement  of  learning. 

The  lecturers  on  rhetoric  and  philosophy,  the  so-called 
sophists,  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  imperial  favour,  had 

immunities  and  bounties  showered  upon  them, 
there"and^  and  were  raised  at  times  to  offices  of  state  and 
the  pro-'^^  high  command.  One  of  them  was  intrusted 
fessorsof        with  a  princely  fortune  to  beautify  the  city 

which  he  honoured  with  his  learned  presence. 
Another  found  his  professional  income  large  enough  to 
feed  his  fellow  citizens  in  time  of  famine.  A  third,  the 
writer  Arrian,  was  taken  from  his  Stoic  musings  to  fill 
the  place  of  general  and  governor  of  Cappadocia,  one 
of  the  largest  of  the  provinces  of  Rome.  There  in  his 
turn  he  followed  the  example  set  him  in  high  quarters, 
started  from  Trapezus  (Trebizond)  upon  a  journey  of 
discovery  round  the  coasts  of  the  Black  Sea,  visited  the 
seats  of  the  old  colonial  enterprises  of  Miletus,  studied 
with  a  careful  eye  the  extent  of  trade  and  the  facilities 
for  intercourse  in  prosperous  regions  not  yet  ruined  by 
the  incursions  of  barbarian  hordes.  The  explorer's 
journey  ended,  he  wrote  a  valuable  memoir  to  his 
master;  which  is  of  interest  as  gathering  up  all  that 
geography  had  learned  upon  the  subject. 

There  was  yet  another  ancient  land  which  had  mani- 
fold attractions  for  the  tourist.  It  was  seemingly  in  later 
Hadrian  in  life  that  Hadrian  tarried  long  in  Egypt,  to 
Egypt.  explore  the  wonders  of  its  art  and  study  the 

genius  of  its  people.  He  looked  no  doubt  with  curious  eye 
upon  the  pyramids,  the  sphinxes,  and  the  giant  piles  of 
Carnac,  and  the  rude  lines  may  still  be  read  upon  the 
face  of  Memnon's  vocal  statue  which  tell  us  of  the  visit 
of  his  wife  Sabina.  His  curious  fancy  found  enough 
to   stir  it   in  the  secrets  of  the  mystic  lore  which  hajj 


17-138.  Hadrian.  57 

been  handed  down  from  bygone  ages,  in  the  strange 
medley  of  the  wisdom  and  the  folly  which  crossed  each 
other  in  the  national  thought,  in  their  strong  hold  on 
the  belief  in  an  unseen  world  and  the  moral  govern 
ment  of  Providence,  in  the  animal  worship  which  had 
plunged  of  late  a  whole  neighbourhood  into  deadly 
feud  about  the  conflicting  claims  of  cat  and  ibis,  and 
made  rival  towns  dispute  in  arms  their  right  to  feed  in 
their  midst  the  sacred  bull  called  Apis  for  the  adora- 
tion of  the  rest.  He  could  not  but  admire  the  great 
museum  of  the  Ptolemies,  the  magnificent  seat  of  art  and 
literature  and  science,  the  home  for  centuries  of  so  much 
academic  wit  and  learning. 

In  that  land  of  many  wonders  the  people  of  Alexandria 
were  not  the  least.    In  a  letter  to  his  brother-in-law  which 

still  remains  we  may  see  the  mocking  insight     ^^. 

.,,.,,  ^  ,.    ,    ,        ,         .  Hist.  Aug. 

with  which  the  emperor  studied  the  changing    Vopisci 

moods  of  the  great  city,  full,  as  it  seemed  to  ^'""^  * 
him,  of  soothsayers,  astr  ologers,  and  quacks,  of  worshippers 
of  Christ  and  votaries  of  Serapis,  passing  in  their  fickleness 
from  extreme  of  loyalty  to  that  of  licence,  so  industrious 
by  instinct  as  to  tolerate  no  idle  lounger  in  their  midst, 
and  yet  withal  so  turbulent  as  to  be  incapable  of  govern- 
ing themselves,  professing  reverence  for  many  a  rival 
deity,  yet  all  alike  paying  their  court  to  Mammon. 

But  even  as  he  scoffed  at  the  fanciful  extravagance  of 
Egypt,  he  was  unmanned  by  the  spell  of  her  distempered 
thought.  As  he  travelled  on  the  Nile,  we  read,  he  was  busy 
with  magic  arts  which  called  for  a  human  victim.  One  of 
his  train,  a  Bithynian  shepherd  of  rare  beauty,  was  ready 
to  devote  himself,  and  died  to  give  a  moment's     The  death 
pleasure  to  his  master.     Another  story  tells  us     {h^osis  of 
only  that  he  fell  into  the  river,  and  died  an     Antinous. 
involuntary  death.     But  both  agree  in  this  at  least,  that 
H'idrian  loved  him  fondly,  mourned  him  deeply,  and  would 


58  The  Age  of  tJie  Antonines.  a.d. 

not  be  comforted  when  he  was  gone.  He  could  not  bring 
him  back  to  Hfe,  but  he  could  honour  him  as  no  sovereign 
had  honoured  man  before.  The  district  where  he  died 
must  bear  his  name,  and  a  city  grow  on  the  spot  where 
he  was  buried.  If  the  old  nomes  of  Egypt  had  their 
tutelary  beasts  which  they  worshipped  as  divine,  the 
Antinoite  might  claim  like  rank  for  the  new  hero  who  had 
given  it  a  name,  might  build  temples  to  his  memory,  con- 
sult his  will  in  oracles,  and  task  the  arts  of  Greece  to  lodge 
him  worthily.  Soon  the  new  religion  spread  beyond 
those  narrow  bounds.  City  after  city  of  the  Greek  and 
Eastern  world  caught  the  fever  of  this  servile  adoration, 
built  altars  and  temples  to  Antinous,  founded  festivals  to 
do  him  honour,  and  dressed  him  up  to  modern  fancy  in 
the  attributes  and  likeness  of  their  ancient  gods.  The 
sculptor's  art  lent  itself  with  little  scruple  to  the  spreading 
flattery  of  the  fashion,  reproduced  him  under  countless 
forms  as  its  favourite  type  of  beauty,  while  poets 
laureate  sung  his  praises,  and  provincial  mints  put  his 
face  and  name  upon  their  medals. 

We  may  see  the  tokens  at  this  time  of  an  influence 
rather  cosmopolitan  than  Roman.    By  his  visible  concern 
for  the  wellbeing  of  the  provinces,  by  his  long- 
interests         continued  wanderings  in  every  land,  by  his  Hel- 
poiitan  lenic  sympathies  and  tastes,  Hadrian  lessened 

more  than  certainly  the  attractive  force  of  the  old  im- 
perial city,  and  dealt  a  blow  at  her  ascendancy 
over  men's  minds.  Not  indeed  that  he  treated  her  with 
any  marked  neglect.  The  round  of  shows  and  largesses 
went  on  as  usual :  the  public  granaries  were  filled,  the 
circus  was  supplied  with  costly  victims,  and  the  proud 
paupers  of  the  streets  had  little  cause  to  grumble.  The 
old  religions  of  home  growth  were  guarded  "by  the  state 
with  watchful  care,  and  screened  from  the  dangerous 
rivalry  of  the  deeper  sentiment  or  more  exciting  rituals 


117-138.  Hadrian.  59 

of  the  East.     In  her  streets  he  himself  wore  the  toga,  the 
citizen's  traditional  dress  of  state,  required  the  senators  to 
do  the  like,  and  so  revived  for  a  time  decaying  custom. 
But  the  provinces  began  to  feel  themselves  more  nearly 
on  a  level  with  the  central  city.     Every  year  the  doors  of 
citizenship  seemed  to  open  wider  as  one  after  another 
of  the  towns  was  raised  by  special  grace  to 
the  Latin  or  the  Roman  status.  Each  Emperor    provinces 
had  done  his  part  towards  the  diffusion  of  the    fe^if^^spect. 
rights  which  had  been   the  privilege  of  the    the  ascend-' 
capital  in  olden   time ;    and   Hadrian  made    Ro'^me°and 
them  feel  that  he  was  ruling  in  the  interests    f/ngu^age 
of  all  without  distinction,  since  he  spent  his    pew 
life  in  wandering  through  their  midst,  and 
met  their  wants  with  liberal  and  impartial  hand.     They 
looked  therefore  less  and  less  to  Rome  to  set  the  tone 
and  guide  the  fashions.     The  great  towns  of  Alexandria 
and  Antioch,  the  thriving  marts  of  Asia  Minor,  were 
separate  centres  of  influence  and  commerce  ;  and  Greece, 
meanwhile,  spectral  and  decayed  as  were  her  ancient 
cities,  resumed  her  intellectual  sway  over  men's  minds, 
students  of  all  lands  flocked  to   her  university  of  cul- 
ture, and  the  tongue  which  her  poets,  philosophers,  and 
orators  had  spoken  became  henceforth  without  a  rival 
the  literary  language  of  the  world.    The  speech  of  Cicero 
and  Vergil  gradually  lost  its  purity  and  power ;  scholars 
disdained  to  pen  their  thoughts  in  it :  taste  and  fashion 
seemed  to  shun  it,  and  scarcely  a  great  name  is  added 
after  this  to  the  roll  of  its  writers  of  renown. 

In  the  sphere  of  law  and  justice  another  levelling  in- 
fluence had  been  at  work  which  was  carried    The  level- 
further  at  this  time.     The  civil  law  of  Rome,    JjUfnce  of 
with  its  old  traditional  usages  and  forms,  had    tiie  'per- 
long  been  seen  by  statesmen  to  need  expan-    edict/ 
sion  in  a  liberal  spirit  before  the  courts  could  fairly  decU 


6o  The  Age  of  the  Antonhies.  a.d. 

with  the  suits  of  aliens,  or  with  new  cases  wholly  unde- 
fined. The  praetors  had  for  many  years  put  out  a  state- 
ment of  the  principles  by  which  they  would  be  guidec 
in  dealing  with  the  questions  where  the  statute  law 
would  fail  them  or  press  hardly  on  the  suitors,  and  many 
of  these  rules  and  forms,  though  at  first  binding  only 
for  the  year,  had  gradually  crystallised  into  a  system 
of  equity,  which  passed  commonly  from  hand  to  hand, 
though  somewhat  loose  and  ill-defined,  and  with  much 
room  for  individual  judgment  and  caprice.  It  was  a 
gain  to  progress  when  Salvius  Julianus,  an  eminent 
jurist  of  the  day,  sifted  and  harmonized  these  floating 
principles  and  forms  of  justice,  giving  them  a  systematic 
shape  under  the  name  of  Hadrian's  *  perpetual  edict.' 
It  was  a  great  step  towards  the  imperial  codes  of  later 
days,  in  which  the  currents  of  worldwide  experience  and 
Greek  philosophy  were  mingled  with  the  stream  of  purely 
Roman  thought.  The  Emperor  was  the  sole  legislator  of 
the  realm  ;  the  statutes  were  the  expression  of  his  personal 
will ;  but  the  great  jurists  who  advised  him  in  the  council 
chamber  came  from  countries  far  away,  and  reflected  in 
many  various  forms  the  universal  sense  of  justice. 

So  far  we  have  seen  only  the  strength  of  Hadrian's 
character.  To  organize  and  drill  the  armies  in  a  period 
of  almost  unbroken  peace,  and  give  a  tone  to  discipline 
which  lasted  on  long  after  he  was  gone,  to  study  by 
personal  intercourse  the  problems  of  government  in 
every  land,  dealing  with  all  races  on  the  same  broad 
level  of  impartial  justice,  to  combine  the  rigid  machinery 
and  iron  force  of  Roman  rule  with  the  finer  graces  of 
Hellenic  culture,  this  was  a  pohcy  which,  borrowed  as  it 
was  perhaps  from  the  old  traditions  of  Augustus,  yet  could 
be  carried  out  only  by  an  intellect  of  most  unusual 
flexibility  and  force.  For  the  work  which  was  to  be 
done  upon  so  vast  a  scale  he  had  only  limited  resources  ; 


i,7_,38.  Hadrian.  6} 

he  dealt  with  it  in  a  spirit  which  was  at  once  liberal  and 
thrifty,  thus  following  in  the  steps  of  the  wisest  Hadrian's 
emperors  who  had  gone  before  him.  In  the  a^^eood 
first  year  of  his  reign  he  had  remitted  the  finance, 
arrears  due  to  the  treasury  to  the  amount  of  900  million 
sesterces,  burning  the  bonds  in  Trajan's  forum  as  a 
public  offering  to  his  memory.  The  charities  lately  set 
on  foot  for  the  rearing  of  poor  children  were  endowed  by 
him  with  further  bounties.  We  may  still  read  the  medals 
struck  in  honour  of  his  largesses  of  money  to  the 
populace  of  Rome,  repeated  on  seven  distinct  occasions. 
Prompt  succour  was  given  with  a  kindly  hand  to  the 
sufferers  by  fire  and  plague  and  earthquake  in  all  parts 
of  the  widespread  empire.  But  to  meet  such  calls  upon 
his  purse,  and  to  maintain  the  armies  and  the  civil 
service,  he  felt  the  need  of  frugal  ways  and  good  finance. 
He  revised  the  imperial  budget  with  the  skill  of  a  trained 
accountant,  held  the  details  in  his  retentive  memory,  and 
would  have  no  waste  or  peculation.  Economy  was  the 
order  of  his  household  ;  no  greedy  favourites  or  freed- 
men  grew  fat  and  wanton  at  the  treasury's  expense  ;  the 
purveyors  of  his  table  even  found  that  they  must  be 
careful,  for  at  his  dinners  of  state  he  sent  sometimes  to 
taste  the  dishes  which  were  served  to  the  humblest  of 
his  guests. 

But  great  as  were  Hadrian's  talents,  and  consistent 
in    the  main  as  was   his  policy  as    ruler,   we    are    yet 
told   of  many  a   pettiness  and  strange   caprice.     If  we 
try  to  study  his  real  character  it  seems,  like     But 
the  legendary  Proteus,  to  take  every  form  by    ^efrquali- 
turns,  to  pass  from  the  brightest  to  the  dark-     ties  were 
est  moods  by  some  inexplicable  fantasy.    One    balanced  by 
of  the  first  things  we  read  of  him  on  his  rise     a^d's^an'^'^e 
to  power  is  his   speech   to  an    old   enemy,     caprices. 
'  Now  you  are  safe,'  as  if  he  could  stoop  no  longer  to  the: 


62  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

meanness  of  a  personal  quarrel.  He  will  not  listen  to  the 
advice  of  a  trusty  friend  to  sweep  out  of  his  path  three 
men  who  might  be  dangerous  rivals  ;  but  shortly  after- 
wards Rome  heard  with  horror  that  the  most  eminent  of 
Trajan's  generals,  Cornelius  Palma,  the  conqueror  of 
Arabia,  and  Lusius  Quietus,  perhaps  the  ablest  soldier  of 
Hissus-  ^^^    ^^y>    ^^^^  other  men  of  special  mark, 

picious  had  been    suddenly    struck  down   unheard, 

emper,  without  any  forms  of  legal  trial,  on  the  plea  of 

traitorous  plots  against  the  Emperor's  life.  Resenting  pro- 
bably as  a  personal  affront  the  surrender  of  the  conquests 
which  they  had  helped  to  win  for  Trajan,  and  despising 
the  scholar  prince  whose  great  qualities  were  as  yet  un- 
known, they  had  made  common  cause,  as  it  was  said,  with 
malcontents  at  Rome,  and  joined  in  a  wide-spread  con- 
spiracy. Hadrian  indeed  was  in  Dacia  at  the  time,  and 
soon  came  back  in  haste,  and  with  good  reason,  seem- 
ingly, threw  upon  the  praetorian  praefect  and  the  Senate  the 
burden  of  the  dark  deed  that  had  been  done,  promising 
that  henceforth  no  senator  should  be  condemned  except 
by  the  sentence  of  his  peers.  He  kept  his  word  till  his 
reason  lost  its  balance.  But  years  afterwards  the  instinct 
of  cruelty  broke  out  in  fearful  earnest.  When  old  age  and 
sickness  pressed  him  hard,  and  the  reins  of  power  were 
slipping  from  his  hands,  his  fears  of  treachery  proved 
fatal  to  his  nearest  intimates  and  kinsmen,  to  those  who 
had  secured  his  rise  to  empire,  or  had  shown  their  loyalty 
by  the  service  of  a  life-time. 

As  we  read  the  story  in  the  poor  chroniclers  of  a  later 
age  the  description  of  his  personal  habits  is  full  ol 
striking  inconsistencies.  He  lived  with  the  citizens  ol 
Rome  as  with  his  peers,  and  moved  to  and  fro  with  little 
state  ;  yet  he  was  the  first  Emperor  to  employ  the  ser- 
vices of  knights  for  the  menial  offices  of  the  palace  filled 
jhitherto  by  freedmen.     He  would  hear  no  more  of  the 


1 1 7-138.  Hadrian.  63 

charges  of  high  treason  so  terrible  in  years  gone  by,  he 
would  have  the  courts  of  law  to  act  without  respect  of 
persons;  but  he  organized  a  system  of  espion-  system  of 
age  of  a  new  and  searching  kind,  and  read  espionage, 
the  familiar  correspondence  of  his  friends,  twitting  them 
even,  now  and  then,  with  the  reproaches  of  their  wives 
meant  only  for  the  husband's  ears.  He  loved  art  and 
literature  sincerely,  he  liked  to  be  surrounded  with  the 
men  who  studied  them  in  earnest,  but  they  thought  at 
least  that  he  took  umbrage  easily  at  any  fancied  rivalry, 
and  was  full  of  jealousy  and  unworthy  spite. 

It    was    dangerous  to    be    too    brilliant  where  the 
Emperor  wished  to  shine,  and  there  were  few  departments 
of  the  fine  arts  in  which  he  did  not  find  him-    andjeai- 
self  at  home.     The  scholar  Favorinus  once    trilL'nt 
was  asked  why  he  had  given  way  so  easily  in    powers, 
a  dispute  upon  a  point  of  grammar  when  he  was  in  the 
right,  and  he  answered  with  good  reason,  *  It  is  not  a 
prudent  thing  to  call  in  question  the  learning  of  the  master 
of  thirty  legions.'  The  professors  of  repute  who  moved  his 
envy  found  their  pupils  taken  from  them,  or    as  in  the 
rival  lecturers  started  to  irritate  and  supplant    ^^.°^ 
them.    Apollodorus,  the  great  architect,  was    doms. 
even  more  unlucky.     Long  ago  in  Trajan's  company  he 
had  listened  with  impatience   to  the  future  Emperor's 
critical  remarks,  and  had  told  him  to  paint  pumpkins  and 
not    to    meddle  with   design.     Years  afterwards,  when 
Hadrian  sent  him    his    own  plans  for  the    temple    of 
Aphrodite  which  he  wished  to    build,  it  was  returned 
with  the  offensive  comment  that  the  statue  of  the  goddess 
was  made  upon  so  large  a  scale  that    she    could  not 
stand  upright  in  her  own  house.      The  critic  paid  with 
his  life  we  read,  the  penalty  for  his  sharp  words. 

Even   the   glory  of   the   immortal  dead  stirred  the 
jealousy  of  the  artist  prince,  and  he  affected  to  prefer  Cato- 


64  The  Age  of  t/ie  Antofiines.  a.d. 

to  Cicero,  Ennius  to  Vergil,  the  obscure  Antimachus  to 
Homer.  He  was  said  to  be  jealous  of  the  fame  of  Trajan, 
and  therefore  to  attribute  to  his  secret  counsels  the  most 
unpopular  of  his  own  measures  ;  by  way  of  indirectly 
blaming  him,  he  would  not  have  his  own  name  put  upon 
any  of  the  pubHc  buildings  which  he  raised,  while  yet  he 
was  ready  to  allow  some  twenty  cities  to  take  their  title 
from  him. 

It  was  a  marked  feature  of  his  policy  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  the  chieftains  of  the  border  races,  and 
His  fickle-  to  win  their  goodwill  with  ample  presents,  a 
ness,  dangerous  precedent  perhaps  for  the  tribute 

paid  to  barbarians  by  later  rulers  ;  but  after  receiving  one 
of  them  at  Rome  with  special  honour,  he  treated  with 
contempt  the  robes  of  state  presented  to  him  by  his 
illustrious  guest,  dressing  up  in  like  attire  300  criminals 
whom  he  sent  to  fight  as  gladiators  in  the  circus. 

He  was  courteous  and  kindly  to  his  friends,  granting 

them  readily  the  boons  they  asked  ;  yet  he  listened  with 

open  ears  to  scandalous  stories  to  their  hurt,  and  few  even 

of  the  most  favoured  escaped  at  last  without  disgrace. 

Shrewd  and  hardheaded  as  he  was,  he  believed 

superstition,      .  .  ,  ,  1     r 

m  necromancy,  magic,  and  astrology,  and  after 
making  much  of  keeping  up  the  purity  of  the  old  national 
faith,  he  allowed  the  flattery  of  his  people  to  canonize 
Antinous,  the  minion  who  won  his  love  in  later  years. 
In  fine,  says  one  of  the  oldest  writers  of  his  life,  after 
reckoning  up  his  fickle  moods  and  varied  graces, '  he  was 
everything  by  turns  ;  earnest  and  light-hearted,  courteous 
and  stern,  bountiful  and  thrifty,  frank  and  dissembling, 
and  para-  wary  and  wanton,' — a  very  chameleon  with 
doxical  changing  colours.    It  seemed  as  if  he  gathered 

variety  of  ,^  ^  j      •      i         j  -a    a        ^ 

temper.  up  m  his  paradoxical  and  manysided  nature 

all  the  fair  qualities  and  gross  defects  which  singly 
characterised  each  of  the  earlier  rulers.     Yet  we  have 


1 1 7- 1 38.  Hadrian.  6  5 

grave  reasons  for  mistrusting  the  accounts  which  reach 
us  from  such  questionable  sources  as  the  poor 
biographies  and  epitomes  of  a  much  later  age,     mistrusting 
which  often  betray  a  fatal  want  of  judgment    accounts  of 
while  they  reflect  the  credulous  malevolence    ancient 

-  authors, 

of  rumour. 

Rome  had  no  tender  feehng  for  a  ruler  who  seemed 
more  at  home  in  learned  Athens,  or  in  the  camp  among 
the  soldiers,  than  in  the  old  capital  of  fashion  and  of 
power.  The  idle  nobles  doubtless  were  well  pleased  to 
repeat  and  colour  the  ill-natured  stories  which  floated  in 
the  air,  and  in  the  literary  circles  gathered  round  the 
prince  there  were  sensitive  and  jealous  spirits  ready  to 
resent  a  hasty  word  and  think  their  merits  unacknow- 
ledged, or  to  point  a  venomed  epigram  against  the 
Emperor's  sorry  taste.  Hadrian  was  a  master  in  the 
fence  of  words,  and  could  hit  hard  in  repartees,  as  when 
a  tippling  poet  wrote  of  him  in  jesting  strain,  ^  I  should 
not  like  to  be  a  Csesar,  roaming  through  the  wilds  of 
Britain,  suffering  from  Scythian  frosts,'  he  answered  in  the 
same  metre,  *  I  should  not  like  to  be  a  Florus,  wandering 
among  the  taverns  and  keeping  pothouso  company.'  He 
may  well  have  shown  impatience  at  petty  vanities  and 
literary  quarrels,  or  have  amused  himself  at  their 
expense  with  scant  regard  for  ruffled  pride ;  but  if  we 
pass  from  words  to  facts  few  definite  charges  can  be 
brought  against  his  dignity  or  justice  as  a  prince.  An 
enlightened  patron  of  the  arts,  he  fostered  learning  with 
a  liberal  bounty,  advanced  to  posts  of  trust  the  scholars 
whose  talents  he  had  noticed,  and  knew  how  to  turn 
their  powers  to  practical  account,  as  when  Salvius 
Julianus  began,  probably  by  his  direction,  to  compile  a 
code  of  equity,  or  when  he  prompted  Arrian  to  compose 
his  '  Tactics '  and  explore  the  line  of  border  forts  upon 
the  Euxine,  or  when  he  bade  Apollodorus  to  write  his 

A.  H.  F 


66  The  Age  of  the  Antoniiics.  a..d. 

treatise  on  artillery  (Poliorketica),  the  opening  words  of 
which,  though  written  in  exile,  betray  no  personal  resent- 
ment as  of  one  suffering  from  a  wanton  wrong.  With 
that  exception,  if  it  really  was  one,  there  is  no  clear  case 
of  harshness  or  of  cruelty  to  stain  his  memory  until  his 
reason  failed  in  the  frenzy  of  his  dying  agony.  To  set 
against  such  rumours  and  suspicions  we  have  proofs 
enough,  in  monumental  evidence  and  in  the  works  which 
lived  on  after  he  was  gone,  of  the  greatness  of  the 
sovereign,  who  left  abiding  tokens  of  his  energy  strewn 
through  all  the  lands  of  the  vast  empire,  who  kept  his 
legions  in  good  humour  though  busy  with  unceasing  drill, 
who  stamped  his  influence  for  centuries  upon  the  forms 
of  military  service,  drew  vast  lines  of  fortresses  and  walls 
round  undefended  frontiers,  reorganized  departments  of 
the  civil  service,  and  withal  found  leisure  enough  and 
width  of  intellectual  sympathies  to  appreciate  and  foster 
all  the  higher  culture  of  the  age. 

We  may  find  perhaps  a  sort  of  symbol  of  his  wide 
range  of  tastes  in  the  arrangements  of  the  villa  and 
His  villa  at  ^^  gardens  which  he  planned  for  hunself  in 
TivoiL  is  old  age  at  Tibur  (Tivoli).     No  longer  able 

with  his  failing  strength  to  roam  over  the  world,  he 
thought  of  gathering  in  his  own  surroundings  a  sort  of 
pictorial  history  of  the  genius  of  each  race  and  the 
national  monuments  of  every  land.  Artists  travelled  at 
his  bidding,  and  plied  their  tools,  and  reproduced  in 
marble  and  in  bronze  the  memories  of  a  lifetime  and 
the  works  of  all  the  ages.  A  great  museum  was  laid 
out  under  the  open  sky,  bounded  by  a  ring  fence  of  some 
ten  miles  in  circuit  ;  within  it  the  old  historic  names 
were  heard  again,  but  in  strange  fellowship,  as  the  most 
diverse  periods  of  art  and  thought  joined  hands  as  it 
were  to  suit  the  Emperor's  fancy.  The  parks  and  avenues 
were  peopled  with  statues  which  seemed  to  have  just 


p 


ii7_i38.  Hadrian.  67 

left  the  hands  of   Phidias   or    Polycletus   or  many  an 
artist  of  renowii. 

There  was  the  Academy  linked  in  memory  for  ever  to 
the  name  of  Plato  :  there  the  Lyceum  where  his  scholar 
d  his  rival  lectured,  and  the  Porch  which  gave  its  name 
the  doctors  of  the  Stoic  creed,  and  the  Prytaneum  or 
Guildhall,  the  centre  of  the  civic  life  of  Athens.  Not  far 
away  were  imaged  forth  in  mimic  forms  the  cool  retreats 
of  Tempe,  while  the  waters  of  a  neighbouring  valley 
bore  the  votaries  along  to  what  seemed  the  temple  of 
Serapis  at  Canopus.  Not  content  with  the  solid  realities 
of  earth,  he  found  room  also  for  the  shadowy  forms  of 
the  unseen  world.  The  scenes  of  Hades  were  pour- 
trayed  as  borrowed  from  the  poet's  fancy,  or  as  repre- 
sented in  dramatic  shapes  in  the  Eleusinian  mysteries. 
In  the  settings  of  these  pictures  a  large  eclectic  taste 
gave  itself  free  liberty  of  choice.  The  arts  of  Greece, 
of  Egypt,  and  of  Asia  yielded  up  their  stores  at  the 
bidding  of  a  connoisseur  who  saw  an  interest  or  a  beauty 
in  them  all. 

The  famous  gardens  are  now  a  wilderness  of  ruins, 
full  of  weird  suggestions  of  the  past,  over  which  a  teeming 
nature  has  flung  her  luxuriant  festoons  to  deck  the  fairy 
land  of  fancy ;  but  they  have  served  for  centuries  as  a 
mine  which  the  curious  might  explore,  and  the  art 
galleries  of  Europe  owe  many  of  their  bronzes,  marbles, 
and  mosaics  to  the  industry  and  skill  once  summoned 
to  adorn  Hadrian's  panorama  of  the  history  of 
civihzed  progress.  Among  these  the  various  statues  of 
Antinous  are  of  most  interest,  partly  as  they  show  the 
methods  of  ideal  treatment  then  in  vogue,  and  the 
amount  of  creative  power  which  still  remained,  but  partly 
also  as  the  symptoms  of  the  infatuation  of  a  prince  who 
could  find  no  worthier  subjects  for  the  artists  of  his  day 
than  the  sensuous  beauty  of  a  Bithynian  shepherd. 
F  2 


68  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

At  this  time  indeed  his  finest  faculties  of  mind  were 
failing,  and  his  death  was  drawing  nigh.  He  was  seized 
by  a  painful  and  hopeless  malady,  and  it  was 
dise^  he  time  to  think  of  choosing  his  successor.  But 
hksucces-  ^^  ^^^*  ^^  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  any- 
sor,  Verus.  one  preparing  to  step  into  his  place,  and  his 
A.D.  135.  jealousy  was  fatal  to  the  men  who  were  pointed 
out  by  natural  claims  or  by  the  people's  favour.  After  a 
time  he  singled  out  a  certain  CElius  Verus,  who  had  showy 
accomplishments,  a  graceful  carriage,  and  an  air  of  culture 
and  refinement.  But  he  was  thought  to  be  a  sensual, 
selfish  trifler,  with  little  trace  of  the  manly  hardihood  of 
Hadrian  in  his  be<  days ;  and  few  eyes,  save  the 
Emperor's,  could  see  his  merits.  The  world  was  spared 
the  chances  of  a  possible  Nero  in  the  future  ;  the  Emperor 
himself  soon  found,  to  use  his  own  words,  *  that  he  was 
leaning  on  a  totteiing  wall/  and  that  the  great  sums 
spent  in  donatives  to  the  soldiers  upon  the  adoption  of  the 
,     ,.  ,        new-made  Caesar  were  a    pure  loss    to  his 

who  died  __,  \     -,       ■,  •,  «•  -i 

Boon  after,  treasury.  The  young  man  s  health  was  fail- 
A.D.  138,  jjjg  rapidly  ;  he  had  not  even  strength  to 
make  his  complimentary  speech  before  the  Senate,  and 
the  dose  which  he  took  to  stimulate  his  nerves  was 
too  potent  for  his  feeble  system,  and  hurried  the 
weakling  to  the  grave  before  he  had  time  to  mount  the 
throne. 

Once  more  the  old  embarrassment  of  choice  recurred, 
but  this  time  with  a  happier  issue.  By  a  lucky  accident 
and  T.  A.  One  day,  we  read,  the  Emperor's  eye  fell  on 
was  adopted  Titus  Aurelius  Antoninus  as  he  came  into  the 
in  his  place,  senate  house  supporting  the  weakness  of  his 
aged  father-in-law  with  his  strong  arm.  He  had  passed 
with  unstained  honour  through  the  round  of  the  offices 
of  state,  had  taken  rank  in  the  council  chamber  of  the 
prince,  where  his  voice  was  always  raised  in  the  interest 


1 1 7-138.  Hadrian,  69 

of  mercy.  All  knew  his  worth,  and  gladly  hailed  the  choice 
when  the  Emperor's  mantle  fell  upon  his  shoulders  ;  the 
formal  act  of  adoption  once  completed,  they  could  wait 
now  with  lighter  hearts  till  the  last  scenes  of  Hadrian's  life 
were  over. 

The  Prince's  sun  was  setting  fast  in  lurid  cloud. 
Disease  was  tightening  its  hold  upon  him,  and  bringing 
with  it  a  lingering  agony  of  torment,  in  which  Hadrian'* 
his  strong  reason  wholly  lost  its  balance,  and  dying 
gave  way  to  the  fitful  moods  of  a  delirious  fiffu"^nSods 
frenzy.  Now  he  was  a  prey  to  wild  suspicions,  of  c'^elty. 
and  was  haunted  by  a  mania  for  bloodshed  ;  now  he 
tried  to  obtain  relief  by  magic  arts  and  incantations ; 
and  at  last  in  his  supreme  despair  he  resolved  to  die.  But 
his  physician  would  not  give  him  the  fatal  potion  which 
he  called  for  ;  his  servants  shrank  in  terror  from  the 
thought  of  dealing  the  blow  which  would  rid  him  of  his 
pains,  and  stole  out  of  his  grasp  the  dagger  which  he 
tried  to  use.  In  vain  he  begged  them  to  cut  short  his 
sufferings  in  mercy.  The  filial  piety  of  Antoninus  watched 
over  his  bedside  and  stayed  his  hand  when  it  was  raised 
to  strike  himself,  as  he  had  already  hid  from  his  sight  the 
objects  of  his  murderous  suspicions.  But  the  memory 
of  Servianus,  whom  he  had  slain  but  lately,  haunted 
in  nightmare  shapes  the  conscience  of  the  stricken 
sufferer  with  the  words  which  the  victim  uttered  at  the 
last : — *  I  am  to  die  though  innocent ;  may  the  gods  give 
to  Hadrian  the  wish  to  die,  without  the  power.'  He  had 
also  lucid  intervals  when  his  thoughts  were  busy  upon 
the  world  unknown  beyond  the  gi-ave,  and  the  sceneu 
that  were  pictured  for  him  in  the  gardens  of  his  favoured 
home  of  Tivoli.  Even  on  his  deathbed  he  could  feel 
the  poet's  love  for  tuneful  phrase,  and  the  verses  are 
still  left  to  us  which  were  addressed  by  him  to  his  soul, 
which,  pale  and  cold  and  naked,  would  soon  have  to  make 


70  The  Age  of  the  Aiitonines.  a.d. 

its  way  to  regions  all  unknown,  with  none  of  its  whilom 
gaiety  : — 

Animula,  vagula,  blandula. 
Hospes  comesque  corporis. 
Quae  nunc  abibis  in  loca. 
Pallidula,  rigida,  nudula. 
Nee  ut  soles  dabis  jocos. 

The  end  came  at  last  at  Baias.  The  body  was  not 
brought  in  state  to  Rome,  for  the  capital  had  long  been 
His  death  weary  of  its  ruler.  It  forgot  the  justice  of 
at  Bajse,  j^jg  earlier  years  and  the  breadth  of  his  im- 
perial aims,  and  could  not  shake  off  the  sense  of  terror 
of  his  moribund  cruelty  and  frenzy.  The  senators  were 
minded  even  to  proscribe  his  memory  and  annul  his 
acts,  and  to  refuse  him  the  divine  honours  which  had 
been  given  with  such  an  easy  grace  to  men  of  far  less 
worth.  They  yielded  with  reluctance  to  the  prayers  of 
A.ntoninus,  and  dropped  an  official  veil  over  the  memories 
and  canoni-  of  the  last  few  months,  influenced  partly  by 
^'^°"-  their  joy  at  finding  that  the  victims  whom  they 

had  mourned  were  living  still,  but  far  more  out  of  re- 
spect for  the  present  Emperor  than  the  past.  Was  it 
popular  caprice  or  a  higher  tone  of  public  feeling,  owing 
to  which,  Rome,  which  had  borne  with  Caligula  and  re- 
gretted Nero,  could  not  pardon  the  last  morbid  excesses 
of  a  ruler  who  for  one-and-twenty  years  had  given  the 
world  the  blessings  of  security  and  justice  ? 

Though  Hadrian  cared  little  for  state  parade  in  life, 
he  wished  to  be  lodged  royally  in  death.  The  mauso- 
The  mauso-  ^^^^  ^^  Augustus  was  already  full ;  he  re- 
leumpf  solved  therefore  to  build    a  worthy  resting- 

a  nan.  place  for  himself  and  for  the  Csesars  yet  to 
come.  A  stately  bridge  across  the  Tiber,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Campus  Martins,  decked  with  a  row  of 
statues  on  each  side,  was  made  to  serve  as  a  road  of 


1 17-138.  Hadrian.  71 

state  to  lead  to  the  great  tower  in  which  his  ashes  were  to 
lie.  Above  the  tower  stood  out  to  vicv  the  groups  of 
statuary  whose  beauty  moved  the  wonder  of  the  travellers 
of  later  days  ;  within  was  a  sepulchral  chamber,  in  a 
niche  of  which  was  stored  the  urn  which  contained  all 
that  the  flames  had  left  of  Hadrian.  The  tower  was  built 
of  masonry  almost  as  solid  as  the  giant  piles  of  Egypt, 
and  with  the  bridge  it  has  outlived  the  wreck  of  ages. 
For  almost  a  century  it  served  only  to  enshrine  the  dust 
of  Emperors,  but  afterwards  it  was  used  for  other  ends, 
and  became  a  fortress,  a  papal  residence,  a  prison. 
When  the  Goths  were  storming  Rome,  the  tide  of  war 
rolled  up  against  the  mausoleum,  and  when  all  else  failed 
the  statues  which  adorned  it  were  torn  from  their  pe- 
destals by  the  besieged,  and  flung  down  upon  their 
enemies  below.  Some  few  were  found,  long  centuries 
after,  almost  unhurt  among  the  ruins,  and  may  be  still 
seen  in  the  great  galleries  of  Europe.  The  works  of  art 
have  disappeared  with  the  gates  of  bronze  and  with  the 
lining  of  rich  marble  which  covered  it  within,  and  after 
ages  have  done  little  to  it  save  to  replace  the  triumphal 
statue  of  the  builder  with  the  figure  of  the  Archangel 
Michael,  whom  a  Pope  saw  in  his  vision  sheathing  his 
sword  in  token  that  the  plague  was  stayed  above  the  old 
tower  that  has  since  been  called  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo. 
The  policy  of  Hadrian  was  one  of  peace  ;  through  all 
his  wide  dominions  a  generation  had  grown  The  out- 
up  which  scarcely  knew  the  crash  of  war.  One  p£tin^ 
race  only,  the  Jewish,  would  not  rest,  but  a.d.  132,' 
rose  again  in  fierce  revolt.  The  hopes  of  the  nation 
had  seemingly  been  crushed  for  ever  by  the  harsh  hand 
of  Titus  ;  the  generals  of  Trajan  pitilessly  stifled  its  vin- 
dictive passion  that  had  burst  out  afresh  in  Africa  and 
Cyprus.  It  had  seen  in  Palestine  the  iron  force  of 
Roman  discipline,  and  the  outcasts  in  every  land  had 


72  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a. a 

learned  how  enormous  was  the  empire  and  how  irresist- 
ible its  power.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  they  flung  them- 
selves once  more  in  blind  fury  on  their  masters,  ana 
refused  to  despair  or  to  submit.  They  could  not  bear 
to  think  that  colonists  were  planted  among  the  ruins 
of  their  Holy  City  ;  that  heathen  temples  should  be  built 
in  spots  so  full  to  them  of  sacred  memories,  or  that 
the  old  sound  of  Jerusalem  should  be  displaced  in 
favour  of  the  motley  combination  of  vElia  Capitohna, 
to  which  both  the  Emperor  and  the  chief  god  of  Rome 
lent  each  their  quota.  They  nursed  their  wrath  till 
Hadrian's  back  was  turned,  and  the  bulk  of  the  legions 
far  away  ;  then  at  last  the  fire  blazed  out  again,  and 
wrapped  all  Palestine  in  flames.  A  would-be  Messiah 
showed  himself  among  them,  taking  the  title  of  Bar- 
chochebas,  after  the  star  whose  rising  they  had  waited 
for  so  long.  The  multitudes  flocked  eagerly  around  his 
banner,  and  Akiba,  the  great  rabbi,  lent  him  the  sanction 
of  his  venerated  name.  The  patriot  armies  needed 
weapons,  but  the  Jewish  smiths  had  bungled  purposely  in 
working  for  the  Roman  soldiers,  that  the  cast-off  arms 
might  be  left  upon  their  hands.  The  dismantled  fortresses 
were  speedily  rebuilt,  the  walls  which  Titus  ruined  rose 
afresh,  and  secret  passages  and  galleries  were  constructed 
under  the  strongholds  that  the  garrisons  might  find  in- 
gress and  egress  as  they  pleased.  They  would  not  meet 
the  legions  in  the  field,  but  tried  to  distract  their  energy 
by  multitudinous  warfare.  The  revolt,  despised  at  first; 
soon  grew  to  such  a  height  as  to  call  for  the  best  general 
tiast  °^  ^^  empire  and  all  the  discipline  of  her 
terribly  armies.    Julius  Severus  was  brought  from  dis- 

3».arapedout.  ^^^^  Britain  to  drive  the  fanatics  to  bay  and 
to  crush  them  with  his  overwhelming  forces.  One 
stronghold  after  another  fell,  though  stubbornly  defended, 
till  the  fiercest  of  the  zealots  intrenched  themselves  in 


117-138.  Antoninus  Pius.  73 

their  despair  at  Bather,  and  yielded  only  to  the  last  ex- 
tremities of  famine.  The  war  was  closed  after  untold 
misery  and  bloodshed,  and  even  the  official  bulletins 
avowed  in  their  ominous  change  of  style  how  great  was 
the  loss  of  Roman  life. 

All  that  had  been  left  of  the  Holy  City  of  the  Jews  was 
swept  away,  and  local  memories  were  quite  effaced.  New 
settlers  took  the  place  of  the  old  people  ;  statues  of  the 
Emperor  marked  the  site  where  the  old  Temple  stood  ; 
and  the  spots  dear  to  Christian  pilgrims  were  befouled 
and  hid  away  from  sight  by  a  building  raised  in  honour 
of  mere  carnal  passion.  The  Jews  might  never  wander 
more  in  the  old  city  of  their  fathers.  Once  only  in  the 
year  were  they  allowed,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  de- 
struction of  their  temple,  to  stand  awhile  within  the 
holy  precincts  and  kiss  a  fragment  of  the  venerable  ruin, 
and  mourn  over  the  hopeless  desolation  of  their  land. 
Even  this  privilege,  says  Jerome,  they  dearly  bought, 
for  a  price  was  set  by  their  masters  on  their  tears, 
as  they  had  set  their  price  of  old  upon  the  blood  of 
Jesus. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ANTONINUS  PIUS.     A.D.    138-161. 

The  ancient  writer  who  tells  us  most  of  Antoninus  twice 
compares  him  with  the  legendary  Numa  whose  reign 
appears  in  the  romance  of  early  Roman  his-  The  reign  o( 
tory  as  the  golden  age  of  peace  and  equity,  ^arim-*^ 
when  men  lived  nearest  in  communion  with  eventful, 
heaven.  As  in  that  dreamland  of  olden  fancy  the  out- 
lines are  all  faint  and  indistinct  from  want  of  stirring 
adventure  or  excitement,  so  now  it  might  seem  as  if  the 


74  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines.  a.  d. 

happiness  of  the  world  were  too  complete  to  let  it  care 
either  to  make  history  or  to  write  it.  For  the  new  sove- 
reign was  no  Trajan,  happiest  when  on  the  march 
and  proud  of  his  prowess  in  the  field  ;  he  was  not  bril- 
liant and  versatile  like  Hadrian,  bent  on  exploring  every 
land  in  person  and  exhausting  all  the  experience  of  his 
age.  His  life  as  Emperor  was  passionless  and  uneventful, 
and  history,  wearied  of  unbroken  eulogy,  bassoon  dropped 
her  curtain  upon  the  government  of  a  prince  who 
shunned  parade  and  high  ambition,  and  was  content  to 
secure  the  welfare  of  his  people.  To  describe  him,  the 
Why  called  popular  fancy  chose  the  name  of  Pius,  as  Ver- 
Pms.  gjj  called  the  hero  of  his  epic,  though  not  per- 

haps with  the  same  shade  of  meaning.  The  Romans 
meant  by  piety  the  scrupulous  conscience  and  the  loving 
heart  which  are  careless  of  no  claims  upon  them,  and 
leave  no  task  of  duty  unfulfilled.  They  used  it  for  the 
reverence  for  the  unseen  world  and  the  mystic  fervour  of 
devotion  ;  but  oftener  far  for  the  quiet  unobtrusive  vir- 
tues of  brother,  child,  or  friend.  In  the  case  of  Anto- 
ninus other  reasons  were  not  wanting  to  justify  the  title, 
but  above  all,  it  seemed  a  fitting  name  for  the  tenderness 
with  which  he  watched  over  Hadrian's  bed  of  sickness,  re- 
fusing to  let  him  cut  short  his  pains  and  his  despair,  or  stain 
his  memory  with  the  blood  of  guiltless  victims  ;  and  when 
death  came  at  last  to  the  sufferer's  relief,  he  would  not 
rest  till  he  wrung  from  the  unwilling  Senate  the  vote 
which  raised  the  departed  Emperor  to  the  rank  of  god- 
head. But  he  had  spent  the  same  loving  care,  it  seems, 
already  on  many  of  his  kinsmen,  had  given  loans  on 
easy  terms  to  friends  and  neighbours,  and  showed  to  all 
a  gentle  courtesy  which  never  failed.  A  character  so 
His  charity  kindly  could  not  look  with  unconcern  upon 
was  tender.  ^^  endowments  for  poor  children  which 
Trajan's  charity  had  founded.     He  enlarged  their  num- 


;38-i6i.  Antoninus  Pius.  75 

ber,  and  called  the  g^rls  whom  he  reared  at  his  expense, 
after  the  name  of  his  ovvn  wife,  Faustina. 

But  there  was  no  weakness,  no  extravagance  in  this 
goodnature.  His  household  servants,  the  officials  of  the 
court,  who  had  counted  perhaps  on  his  indulgence,  found 
to  their  surprise  that  his  favour  was  no  royal  road  to 
wealth.  There  was  no  golden  harvest  to  be  reaped  from 
fees  and  perquisites  and  bribes  in  the  service  of  a  master 
who  had  a  word  and  ear  for  all  who  came  to  see  him,  but 
made  no  special  favourites,  and  had  a  perfect  horror  of  rich 
sinecures  as  a  cruel  tax  upon  the  endurance  of  his  people. 
Nor  did  he,  like  earlier  monarchs,  use  his  pa-  yet  free  from 
tronage  to  win  the  loyalty  of  more  adherents,  weakness. 
The  offices  of  state  in  the  old  days  of  the  republic  had 
passed  rapidly  from  hand  to  hand,  to  satisfy  the  ambition 
of  the  ruling  classes  ;  the  first  Emperors  gave  the  consul- 
ship for  a  few  months  only,  to  please  men's  vanity  with 
the  unsubstantial  honour,  and  rarely  kept  provincial 
governors  long  at  the  same  post.  But  Antoninus  had 
no  love  of  change  ;  he  retained  in  office  the  ministers 
whom  Hadrian  had  named,  and  seldom  displaced  the 
men  who  had  proved  their  capacity  to  rule.  In  this 
he  had  chiefly  the  public  interest  in  view,  for  he  called 
his  agents  sharply  to  account  if  they  were  grasping  or 
oppressive  :  he  tried  to  lighten  the  burden  of  taxation, 
and  would  not  even  travel  abroad  for  fear  He  did  not 
that  the  calls  of  hospitality  towards  his  train  l^rold,  but 
might  be  burdensome  to  the  lands  through  of^^ro>Hnciil 
which  it  passed.  Yet  though  the  provincials  interests, 
never  saw  him  in  their  midst,  they  felt  the  tokens  of  his 
watchful  care.  He  was  ready  to  grant  an  audience  to 
every  deputation  ;  his  ear  was  open  to  all  the  cries  for 
succour  or  redress  ;  he  seemed  quite  familiar  with  the 
ways  and  means  of  all  the  country  towns,  and  with  the 
chief  exDcnses  which  they  had  to  meet.     Had  any  grave 


76  The  Age  of  the  Antoriines.  a.d. 

disaster  from  fire  or  earthquake  scourged  their  neigh- 
bourhood, the  Emperor  was  prompt  with  words  of  con- 
dolence and  acts  of  grace.  He  was  not  ostentatious  in 
his  bounty,  for  he  knew  that  to  give  freely  to  the 
favoured  he  must  take  largely  from  the  rest ;  and  in  the 
imperial  budget  of  those  times  there  was  no  wide  mar- 
gin for  his  personal  pleasures.  In  earlier  days,  indeed, 
he  had  readily  received  the  family  estates  bequeathed 
andecono-  to  him  by  the  kinsmen  who  had  prized  his 
mical,  dutiful  affection,  but  now  he  would  take  no 

legacy  save  from  the  childless,  and  discouraged  the  mor- 
bid whim  of  those  who  used  his  name  to  gratify  some 
spleen  against  their  natural  heirs.  The  eagerness  of 
fiscal  agents  and  informers  died  away,  and  the  dreaded 
name  of  treason  was  seldom,  if  ever,  heard. 

It  is  natural  to  read  that  far  and  wide  the  provinces 
were  prosperous  and  contented  with  a  prince  who  ruled 
thou  h  them  quietly  and  firmly,  who  had  no  hankering 

wars  were  after  military  laurels,  but  liked  to  say  with 
nee   u .  Scipio  that  he  would  rather  save  a  single  fellow- 

countryman  than  slay  a  thousand  of  the  enemy.  Yet  his 
reign  was  not  one  of  unbroken  peace,  like  that  of  fabled 
Moorish  Numa.  The  Moors  and  the  Britons  and  the  un- 
and  Dacian  tamed  raccs  of  the  Rhine  and  Danube  tasked 
babfy''^°  the  skill  and  patience  of  his  generals,  and  the 
A.D.  139.  Jews  even,  hopelessly  crushed  as  they  had 
War  with  Seemed  to  be,  flung  themselves  once  more  with 
A??]?'  ineffectual  fury  on  the  legions.  But  in  the 
145-  main  the  influence  of  Rome  was  spread  by 

wise  diplomacy  rather  than  with  the  sword.  The  neigh- 
bouring potentates  saw  Hadrian's  machinery  of  war 
He  ained  Standing  in  strong  and  burnished  trim  upon 
more  by  their    borders,    and    had   no    mind    to    try 

pomacy.      .^^    force,  while     the    gentle    courtesies    of 
Aitoninus    came  with  a   betler   grace   from   one  who 


138- 1 6 1.  Antoninus  Pius.  'j'] 

could  wield,  if  need  be,  such  thunderbolts  of  battle. 
So  kings  and  chieftains,  one  after  another,  sought  his 
friendship.  Some  came  to  Rome  from  the  far  East  to  do 
him  honour.  Others  at  a  word  or  sign  stopped  short  in 
the  career  of  their  ambition,  appealed  to  him  to  be  um- 
pire in  their  quarrels,  or  renounced  the  aims  which 
threatened  to  cross  his  will.  For  in  the  interests  of  the 
empire  he  would  not  part  with  the  reality  of  power, 
though  he  cared  little  for  the  show  of  glory  ;  he  grasped 
the  substance,  but  despised  the  shadow. 

This  is  well-nigh  all  we  read  about  the  ruler.  It  is  time 
to  turn  to  the  pictures  of  the  man,  in  the  quiet  of  the  home 
circle  and  in  the  simplicity  of  rural  life.  His  family  on  the 
father's  side  had  long  resided  at  Nemausus  (Nismes),  in 
the  Romanised  Provincia  (Provence),  but  he  chose  for 
his  favourite  resort  in  time  of  leisure  his  country  seat  at 
Lorium  in  Etruria.  There  he  had  passed  the  j^j^  j^^^^^, 
happy  years  of  childhood  ;  and  though  often  life  at 
called  away  to  the  dignities  of  office  in  which  o""""' 
father  and  ancestors  had  gone  before  him,  he  had  gladly 
returned  thither  as  often  as  he  could  lay  aside  his  cares. 
There,  too,  as  Emperor,  he  retired  from  the  business  and 
bustle  of  the  city,  put  off  awhile  the  purple  robe  of  state, 
and  dressed  himself  in  the  simple  homespun  of  his 
native  village.  In  that  retreat  no  tedious  ceremonies 
disturbed  his  peace,  no  weariness  of  early  greetings,  no 
long  debates  in  privy  council  or  in  judgment  hall ;  but  in 
their  stead  were  the  homely  interests  of  the  farm  and 
vintage,  varied  only  by  a  rustic  meny-making  or  the 
pleasures  of  the  chase.  It  was  such  a  life  as  Curius 
or  Cato  lived  of  old,  before  the  country  was  deserted 
for  the  towns,  or  slave-labour  on  the  large  estates  took 
the  place  of  native  yeomen,  though  the  rude  austerity 
of  ancient  manners  was  tempered  by  a  genial  refinement 
which  was  no  natural  growth  upon  the  soil  of  Italy.     Iji 


/8  The  Age  of  the  Antofiines.  a..d, 

the  memoirs  of  his  adopted  son,  who  was  one  day  to 
succeed  him,  we  find  a  pleasant  picture  of  the  surround- 
ings of  the  prince,  of  the  easy  tone  and  unaffected  gaiety 
of  the  intercourse  in  his  home  circle,  where  all  the  eti- 
quette of  courts  was  laid  aside,  and  every  neighbour  found 
a  hearty  welcome. 

The  Emperor  stood  little  on  his  dignity,  and  could  waive 
easily  enough  the  claims  of  rank,  could  take  in  good  part 
and  easy  a  friendly  jest,  or  even  at  times  a  rude  retort, 
temper,  jj^  ^^  house  of  an  acquaintance  he  was  one  day 

looking  at  some  porphyry  columns  which  he  fancied,  and 
asking  where  his  host  had  bought  them,  but  was  uncere- 
moniously told  that  under  a  friend's  roof  a  guest  should 
know  how  to  be  both  deaf  and  dumb  in  season.  Such 
airs  disturbed  him  little,  at  times  served  only  to  amuse 
him,  as  when  Apollonius  came  from  Colchis  to  teach 
philosophy  to  the  young  Marcus  at  the  invitation  of  the 
prince,  but  declined  to  call  upon  him  when  he  came  to 
Rome,  saying  that  the  pupil  should  wait  upon  the  master, 
not  the  master  on  the  pupil.  Antoninus  only  laughed  at 
his  pretentiousness  and  said  that  it  was  easier  seemingly 
to  come  all  the  way  from  Colchis  than  to  walk  across  the 
street  at  Rome.  Long  before,  when  he  was  governor  of 
Asia,  and  had  visited  Smyrna  in  the  course  of  a  judicial 
which  circuit,  he  was  quartered  by  the  magistrates 

gave  a^  ^^^'  ^^  ^^  mansion  of  the  sophist  Polemon,  who 
slight.  was  away  upon  a  journey  at  the  time.     At  the 

dead  of  night  the  master  of  the  house  came  home,  and 
knocked  with  impatience  at  the  doors,  and  would  not  be 
pacified  till  he  had  the  place  entirely  to  himself,  and  had 
closed  the  doors  upon  his  unbidden  guest.  The  great 
man  took  the  insult  quietly  enough,  and  when  years 
afterwards  the  sophist  came  to  Rome  to  show  off  his 
powers  of  eloquence,  the  Emperor  welcomed  him  to  court 
without  any  show  of  rancour  at  the  past,  only  telling  his 


(38-161.  Antoninus  'Pius,  79 

own  servants  to  be  careful  not  to  turn  the  door  upon  hnn 
when  he  called.  And  when  an  actor  came  with  a  com- 
plaint that  Polemon,  as  stage  director,  had  dismissed  him 
without  warning  from  a  company  of  players,  he  only  asked 
what  time  it  was  when  he  was  so  abruptly  turned  away. 
'Midday!'  was  the  complainant's  answer.  *  He  thrust 
me  out  at  midnight  ! '  said  the  prince,  '  and  I  lodged  no 
appeal ! ' 

It  was  the  charm  and  merit  of  his  character  that 
he  was  so  natural  in  all  he  said  and  did,  and  disliked 
conventional  and  affected  manners.  His  young  heir  was 
warm  and  tender-hearted,  and  would  not  be  comforted 
when  he  had  lost  his  tutor.  The  servants  of  the  court, 
quite  shocked  at  what  seemed  an  outburst  of  ^j^  tender 
3uch  vulgar  grief,  urged  him  to  consult  his  care  of  his 
dignity  and  curb  his  feelings,  but  the  Emperor  ^  °^^^  ^^' 
silenced  them  and  said  :  *  Let  the  tears  flow  ;  neither 
philosophy  nor  rank  need  stifle  the  affections  of  the  heart.' 
Happily,  he  was  himself  rewarded  by  the  tenderness 
which  he  respected  in  its  love  for  others.  He  had 
adopted  his  nephew  long  ago  by  Hadrian's  wish,  had 
married  him  to  his  own  daughter,  and  watched  his  career 
with  anxious  care.  The  character  thus  formed  under 
his  eye  was  dutiful  and  loyal  to  the  last.  For  many  a 
year  the  young  man  v/as  near  him  always,  night  and 
day  storing  in  his  memory  lessons  of  statecraft  and 
experience,  taking  in  his  pliant  temper  the  impression 
of  the  stronger  will,  and  preparing  to  receive  the  bur- 
dens of  state  upon  his  shoulder  when  the  old  man  was 
forced  to  lay  them  down. 

At  length  the  time  was  come,  and  Antoninus  felt  that 
the  end  was  near.  He  had  only  strength  to  say  to  whom  he 
a  few  last  words,  to  commend  the  empire  and    left  the  em- 

1  •     -1         1  1  r  t  •  i  •  1      pi''e  at  his 

his  daughter  to  the  caie  of  his  successor,  to  bid     death, 
his  servants  move  into  the  chamber  of  his  son    ^•°-  ^^^•' 


So  The  Age  of  the  Antoi  ines.  a.d. 

the  golden  statuette  of  Fortune  which  had  stood  always 
near  his  bed,  and  to  give  the  watchword  for  the  last  time 
to  the  officer  on  guard,  before  he  passed  away  after  three- 
and-twenty  years  of  rule.  The  word  he  chose  was 
'  Equanimity,'  and  it  may  serve  as  a  fitting  symbol  for 
the  calm  and  balanced  temper,  which  was  gentle  yet  firm, 
and  homely  yet  with  perfect  dignity.  History  has  dealt 
kindly  with  the  good  old  man,  for  it  has  let  his  faults  fall 
quite  into  the  shade,  till  they  have  passed  away  from 
memory,  and  we  know  him  only  as  the  unselfish  ruler, 
who  was  rich  at  his  accession,  but  told  his  wife  that 
when  he  took  the  empire  he  must  give  up  all  besides, 
who  preferred  to  repair  the  monuments  of  others  rather 
than  to  build  new  ones  of  his  own,  and,  prince  as  he 
was,  recurred  fondly  in  his  medals  to  the  memories  of 
the  old  republic.  No  great  deeds  are  told  of  him,  save 
this  perhaps  the  greatest,  that  he  secured  the  love  and 
happiness  of  those  he  ruled. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS.   A.D.  147-180. 

Plato  had  written  long  ago  that  there  could  be  no  per- 
fect government  on  earth  till  philosophy  was  seated  on 
.  the  throne.     The  fancy  was  to  be  realised  at 

life  of  M.  last  in  the  person  of  the  second  of  the  Anto- 
Aurehus.  nines,  for  the  whole  civilized  world  was  in  the 
hands  of  one  who  in  the  search  for  truth  had  sat  at  the 
feet  of  all  the  sages  of  his  day,  and  left  no  source  of  an- 
cient wisdom  unexplored.  M.  Annius  Verus,  for  such 
was  the  name  he  bore  at  first,  came  of  a  family  which  had 
long  been  settled  in  the  south  of  Spain,  and  thence  sum- 
moned to  the  capital  to  fill  the  highest  offices  of  state. 


t47-i8o-        Mmxus  A urelius  Antoninus.  ^t 

Left  fatherless  in  infancy,  he  had  been  tenderly  cared  fot 
by  his  grandfather,  and  early  caught  the  fancy  of  the  Em- 
peror Hadrian,  who,  because  of  the  frank  candour  of  his 
childish  ways  called  him  playfully  Verissimus,  a  name 
which  he  liked  well  enough  in  later  years  to  have  it  put 
even  at  times  upon  the  coins  struck  in  his  mints.  At  the! 
early  age  of  eight  he  was  promoted  to  a  place  among  the 
Salii,  the  priests  of  Mars,  recruited  commonly  from  the 
oldest  of  the  patrician  families  at  Rome.  With  them  be 
learned  to  make  the  stated  round  in  public  through  the 
city  with  the  shields  which  fell  of  yore  from  heaven,  to 
join  in  the  old  dances  and  the  venerable  litany,  to  which, 
among  much  that  had  almost  lost  its  meaning  to  their 
ears,  new  lines  were  added  now  and  then,  in  honour  of  the 
rulers  lately  deified.  When  they  flung  their  flowers  to- 
gether on  the  statue  of  the  god,  his  was  the  only  garland 
which  lighted  on  the  sacred  head,  and  young  as  he  was  he 
took  the  lead  of  all  the  rest,  and  knew  by  heart  all  the 
hymns  to  be  recited.  He  grew  apace  in  the  sunshine  of 
court  favour,  and  no  pains  were  spared  at  home  mean- 
time to  fit  him  for  high  station,  for  the  greatest  of  the 
teachers  of  his  day  took  part  in  his  instruction. 

Of  these  Fronto  was  one  of  the  most  famous.     By  a 
lucky  accident,  not  many  years  ago,  the  letters  which 
passed  between  him  and  his  young  pupil  were     ^^  ^^^^_ 
found  in  an  old  manuscript,  over  the  fading    spondence 
characters  of  which  another  work  had  been    his  old       ' 
written  at  a  later  date,  in  accordance  with  a    '"'°''- 
custom  which  has  saved  for  us  many  a  pious  homily  at 
the  expense  of  classic  lore.     There  is  much  of  pedantry 
and  affectation  in  the  style,  and  professor  of  rhetoric  as 
Fronto  was,  he  could  not  teach  his  young  charge  how  to 
write  with  dignity  or  grace.     Yet  if  we  look  below  the 
poor  conceits  of  form  and  stilted  diction,  we  shall  find  the 
gush  of  warm  affections  welling  up  to  give  a  beauty  to 

A.H.  G 


^2  TJie  Age  of  the  Antonines.  >,.d. 

the  boyish  letters.  There  is  a  genuine  ring  about  the 
endearing  epithets  which  he  lavishes  upon  his  teacher, 
and  a  trustfulness  with  which  he  counts  upon  his  sym- 
pathy in  all  his  passing  interests.  He  writes  to  him  of 
course  about  his  studies,  how  he  is  learning  Greek  and 
hopes  one  day  to  rival  the  most  eloquent  Hellenic 
authors,  hx>w  he  is  so  hard  at  work  as  to  have  made  ex- 
tracts in  the  course  of  a  few  days  from  sixty  books  at 
least,  but  playfully  relieves  his  fears  by  telling  him  that 
some  of  the  books  were  very  short.  And  then  among 
passages  of  pretentious  criticism,  which  make  us  fear  that 
he  is  growing  a  conceited  book-worm,  come  others  of  a 
lighter  vein,  which  show  that  he  has  not  lost  his  natural 
love  of  youthful  pranks.  One  day  he  writes  in  glee  to 
say  how  he  frightened  some  shepherds  on  the  road  where 
he  was  riding,  who  took  him  and  his  friends  for  highway 
robbers,  for,  seeing  how  suspiciously  they  eyed  him,  he 
charged  at  full  speed  upon  the  flock,  and  only  scampered 
off  again  when  they  stood  on  their  defence  and  began  to 
bandy  blows  with  crook  and  staff. 

His  conver-  But  happily  the  lad  had  other  masters  who 

rlTetoricTto  taught  him  something  better  than  the  quibbles 
philosophy,  and  subtleties  of  rhetoric.  Philosophy  found 
him  an  apt  pupil  at  a  tender  age,  and  he  soon  caught 
up  with  eagerness,  and  pushed  even  to  excess,  the  lessons 
of  hardihood  and  self-control.  He  tried  to  put  his  prin- 
ciples to  the  test  of  practice,  to  live  simply  in  the  midst  of 
luxury  and  licence,  to  content  himself  with  frugal  fare, 
and  to  take  the  bare  ground  for  his  bed  at  night.  At  last 
it  needed  all  his  mother's  gentle  influence  to  curb  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  ascetic  humour. 

The  old  professor  whom  he  loved  so  well  began  to  be 
jealous  of  such  rival  influence,  and  begged  him  not  to 
forsake  the  Muses  for  austerer  guides,  who  cared  little 
for  the  graces  of  fine  language,  but  seemed  to  think  it 


x47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  ^^ 

vain  and  worldly  to  dress  well  or  write  a  decent  style.  It 
was  indeed  no  petty  jealousy  of  a  narrow  heart,  for  the 
old  man  thought  sincerely  that  rhetoric  was  the  queen  of 
all  the  sciences  and  arts,  and  longed  to  see  her    ^^  . 

1  11  Tx  .  1      1  1  .        Thejea- 

seated  on  the  throne.  He  wished  to  see  his  lousy  of 
pupil  famous,  and  could  think  of  no  oppor-  ^"^o"*^*^- 
tunities  so  good  as  the  one  which  imperial  eloquence 
would  have  before  it.  To  lecture  his  subjects  on  the  duty 
of  man,  to  award  the  meed  of  praise  or  blame,  to  animate 
to  high  endeavours  in  well-turned  periods  and  graceful 
phrase — ^herein,  he  thought,  lay  the  greatness  of  the  ruler's 
work,  not  in  policy  or  law-making,  or  the  rough  game  of 
war.  The  interests  of  humanity  therefore  were  at  stake, 
not  personal  ambition  only,  or  the  credit  of  his  favourite 
study.  He  writes  to  say  that  he  had  already  passed 
many  a  sleepless  night,  in  which  he  was  haunted  by  the 
fear  that  he  had  culpably  neglected  to  stimulate  the 
progress  of  his  pupil.  He  had  not  guarded  carefully  the 
purity  of  his  growing  taste,  had  let  him  turn  to  question- 
able models ;  but  henceforth  they  should  study  the  grand 
style  together,  eschew  comedies  and  such  meaner  moods 
of  thought  and  language,  and  drink  only  at  the  sources 
which  were  undefiled. 

But  the  earnest  scholar  had  outgrown  his  master, 
and  even  then  was  full  of  serious  thoughts  about  great 
questions,  of  *the  misgivings  of  a  creature  moving 
about  in  worlds  not  realised,'  and  was  not  to  be 
moved  to  give  them  up  for  canons  of  taste  and 
rules  of  prosody.  He  gave  in  after  years  the 
Stoic  Rusticus  the  credit  of  his  conversion  from  ^  ^ '  '  ^* 
letters  to  philosophy.  *  It  was  he  who  made  me  feel  how 
much  I  needed  to  reform  and  train  my  character.  He 
warned  me  from  the  treacherous  paths  of  sophistry,  from 
formal  speeches  of  parade  which  aim  at  nothing  higher 
than  applause.    Thanks  to  him  I  am  weaned  from  rhetoric 

G  2 


84  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.u 

and  poetry,  from  affected  elegance  of  style,  and  can  write 
now  with  simplicity.  From  him  I  have  learned  to  concen- 
trate my  thoughts  on  serious  study,  and  not  to  be  surprised 
into  agreeing  with  all  the  random  utterance  of  fluent  speech.' 
Other  influences  came  in  meantime  to  tempt  his 
Offices  of  thoughts  from  graver  themes.  Honours  and 
state  dignities  pursued  him  more  as  he  grew  careless 

of  their  charms.  Already  at  fifteen  years  of  age  he  was 
made  prefect  of  the  city,  or  first  magistrate  of  Rome,  when 
the  consuls  were  away  to  keep  the  Latin  holidays  ;  he  was 
betrothed  also  to  the  daughter  of  ^Elius  Verus,  who  stood 
nearest  to  the  imperial  succession,  and  on  his  death  two 
years  later  he  was,  at  the  express  wish  of  Hadrian, 
adopted  himself  by  Antoninus,  who  was  raised  into 
the  vacant  place,  and  was  soon  to  be  left  in  undisputed 
power.  In  accordance  with  the  Roman  practice,  the 
young  man  called  himself  after  the  Aurelian  family  into 
which  he  passed,  and  may  be  spoken  of  henceforward  as 
Marcus  Aurelius,  the  name  by  which  history  knows  him 
best  It  was  a  brilliant  prospect  that  opened  now  before 
his  eyes.  Titles  of  rank  and  offices  of  state  followed  fast 
upon  each  other  ;  all  the  priestly  colleges  were  glad  to 
welcome  him  among  their  members ;  inscriptions  in  his 
honour  which  have  been  found  even  in  far-off  Dacia  show 
and  popu-  that  the  eyes  of  men  were  turned  on  the  young 
lar  favour  CtCsar,  who  already  bore  his  part  of  the  bur- 
dens of  the  empire.  They  soon  learned,  it  seems,  to 
love  him,  and  to  hope  fondly  of  his  youthful  promise, 
did  not  '^^  popular  fancy  multiplied   his   portraits, 

turn  the  and  an  eyewitness  speaks  of  the  rude  daubs 

young  *  and  ill-carved  statuettes  which  were  every- 
pnnce,  where  exposed  for  sale,  and  which,  in  the 

shops  and  pubUc  taverns  and  over  the  tables  of  the 
moneychangers,  showed  the  well-known  features  of  the 
universal  favourite. 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Atcrelius  Antoninus.  85 

But  happily  the  incense  of  such  flattery  did  not  turn 
his  head  or  cloud  his  judgment.  Rather  it  seemed  to 
make  him  feel  more  deeply  the  responsibilities  of  high 
estate,  and  to  make  him  the  more  resolved  to  fill  it 
worthily.  The  sirens  of  the  court  had  tried  on  him  the 
witchery  of  their  wanton  charms,  and  the  home  life  of 
Hadrian,  which  he  shared  awhile,  had  brought  him  into 
somewhat  questionable  circles  ;  but  his  mother  watched 
him  with  her  constant  care,  and  screened  the  purity  of 
his  growing  manhood — a  tender  service  for  which  he 
fondly  thanks  her  memory  in  later  years.  Attracted  by 
the  high  professions  of  the  Stoic  creed,  he  sought  the 
secret  of  a  noble  life  from  the  great  doctors  of  the  Porch, 
trusting  with  their  help  to  find  a  sure  guiding  who  looked 
star  of  duty,  and  the  true  measure  of  all  cre^dfo?'^ 
earthly  grandeur.  Their  principles  indeed  guidance, 
had  sometimes  been  austere  and  hard,  counsels  of  per- 
fection scarcely  fitted  for  the  frail  and  struggling,  coldly 
disdainful  of  the  weakness  of  our  suffering  manhood. 
But  Marcus  Aurelius  was  too  generous  and  tenderhearted 
to  nurse  such  a  lonely  pride  of  philosophic  calm.  He 
was  vigorous  in  questioning  his  heart,  but  was  stern  only 
to  himself. 

The  man  was  not  forgotten  in  the  student.     We  may 
still  read  in  the  famiUar  letters  which  he  wrote  to  his  old 
friend  and  teacher  about  the  pleasant  days  he    ^^^  without 
spent  in  the  country  house  at  Lorium,  how  he    loss  of  ten- 
dwells   fondly  on  the   infant  graces   of   his    family  affec- 
children,  and  watches  with  anxious  care  the    *^°'^' 
course  of  every  little  ailment     He  speaks  often  of  his 
Httle-nestUngs,  and  forgets  his  graver  thoughts  while  he 
is  with  them.    '  The  weather  is  bad,  and  I  feel    as  may  be 
ill  at  ease,'  he  writes,  *but  when  my  little    fet^t"j.y*jo** 
girls  ai'e  well,  it  seems  that   my  own  pains     Fronto, 
are  of  slight  moment,  and  the  weather  is  quite  fair.* 


86  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

Fronto  enters  readily  enough  into  the  same  vein  of 
homely  sentiment,  sends  his  loving  greeting  to  the  young 
princesses, '  kisses  their  fat  little  toes  and  tiny  hands,' 
and  dwells  complacently  upon  the  simple  happiness  of 
the  prince's  circle.  '  I  have  seen  your  little  ones,'  he 
writes,  *  and  no  sight  could  have  been  more  charming  to 
me,  foi  they  are  so  like  you  in  face  that  nothing  could 
be  more  striking  than  the  likeness.  I  was  well  rewarded 
for  my  pains  in  journeying  to  Lorium,  for  the  slippery 
road  and  rough  ascent  ;  for  I  had  two  copies  of  yourself 
beside  me,  and  both  happily  were  strong  of  voice,  and  had 
the  look  of  health  upon  their  faces.  One  held  a  morsel 
of  fine  white  bread  in  his  hands,  such  as  a  king's  son 
might  eat,  the  other  a  hard  black  crust,  fit  for  the  child 
of  a  philosopher.  In  the  pleasant  prattle  of  their  little 
voices  I  seemed  to  recognise  already  the  clear  tones  of 
your  harmonious  speech.' 

Fronto  had  learned,  it  seems,  to  jest  at  the  austerer 
studies  of  his  former  pupil,  but  he  disliked  them  still  as 
much  as  ever.  Philosophy  indeed  was  now  a  great  moral 
force,  and  the  chief  teacher  of  the  heathen  world  ;  but 
he  could  only  think  of  it  as  the  mere  wrangling  of  pre- 
tentious quibblers,  intent  only  on  hair-splitting  or  fence 
of  words,  and  with  no  power  to  guide  the  reason  or  to 
touch  the  heart.  Prejudiced  and  one-sided  as 
Faustina,  his  Criticism  was,  it  had  perhaps  some  value 
dute  liking  whcn  he  urged  the  future  sovereign  to  re- 
fer philo-  member  the  responsibilities  of  high  estate,  and 
sop  ers.  ^j^^  difference  between  the  purple  of  the  Caesars 
and  the  coarse  mantle  of  the  Stoic  sages.  He  had  also 
a  powerful  ally  who  did  not  fail  to  use  her  influence. 
Faustina,  the  mother  of  thehttle  nesthngs  whom  Fronto 
wrote  about  so  often,  was  affectionate  and  tender  as  a 
wife,  but  had  all  the  pride  of  birth  and  the  fastidious 
refinement  of  the  fashionable  Roman  circles.     She  had 


147 -i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  Sy 

little  liking  doubtless  for  the  uncourtly  doctors  of  the 
Porch,  with  their  philosophic  talk  about  equality  and  rights 
of  manhood,  grudged  them  their  influence  with  her  hus- 
band, and  freely  spent  her  woman's  wit  in  petulant  sally  or 
in  mocking  jest.  The  sages  took  it  somewhat  ill,  misjudg- 
ing her  levity  of  manner,  and  saw  only  wantonness  or  vice 
in  the  frank  gaiety  of  the  highborn  dame.  Hence  among 
the  earnest  thinkers,  or  in  literary  circles,  harsh  sentiments 
began  to  spread  about  Faustina,  and  stamped  themselves 
perhaps  in  ugly  memories  on  the  page  of  formal  history. 
Thus  the  years  passed  by  in  serious  study  and  the 
cares  of  state,  relieved  by  the  tenderness  of  home  affec- 
tions ;  but  history  has  no  more  details  of  in-  q^  ^j^^ 
terest  to  give  us,  till  at  length  Antoninus  closed    death  of 

,.,**.'.  *  ...  Antoninus 

his  long  reign  of  prosperous  calm,  leaving    he  shared 
the  throne  to  his  adopted  son,  who  was  al-    po^^^'J'S^ 
ready  partner  in  the  tribunician  power,   the     Lucius 

•^     *^  .  -      ,         .  .    ,    ,  Verus. 

most  expressive  of  the  imperial  honours. 
Marcus  Aurelius  might  now  have  stood  alone  without  a 
rival,  if  he  had  harboured  a  vulgar  ambition  in  his  soul. 
But  he  bethought  him  of  the  claims,  else  little  heeded, 
of  Lucius  Verus,  who  like  himself,  had  been  adopted,  at 
Hadrian's  wish,  by  the  late  Emperor,  and  had  grown  up 
doubtless  in  the  hopes  of  future  greatness.  He  was 
raised  also  to  the  throne,  and  Rome  saw  now,  ^^^ 

for  the  first  time,  two  co-rulers  share  between 
them  on  an  equal  footing  all  the  dignity  of  absolute  power. 
Their  accession  was  not  greeted  at  the  first  by  fair 
omens  of  prosperity  and  peace,  such  as  the  world  had 
now  enjoyed  for  many  years.     Soon  the  bright    The  omin- 
sky  was  overcast,  and  the  lowering  storms    ^fflPSs^n^d 
began  to  burst.     First  the  Tiber  rose  to  an     war. 
unprecedented  height,  till  the  flood  spread  over  all  the 
low  grounds  of  the  city,  with  fearful  loss  of  property  and 
life,  and  only  retired  at  length  to  leave  widespread  ruin 


S8  TJie  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

and  famine  in  its  track.  Then  came  rumours  of  danger 
and  of  war  in  far-ofif  lands.  In  Britain  the  troops  were 
on  the  point  of  rising  to  assert  their  liberty  of  choice 
and  to  raise  their  general  to  the  seat  of  empire.  But 
their  experienced  and  gallant  leader  would  not  be 
tempted  to  revolt,  and  the  soldiers  soon  returned  to 
their  allegiance,  while  their  favourite  was  recalled  to  do 
good  service  shortly  in  the  East.  On  the  northern  borders 
also  the  native  races  were  in  arms,  and  broke  in  sudden 
onset  through  the  Roman  lines,  and  a  soldier  of  mark 
had  to  be  sent  to  drive  them  back.  But  it  was  on  the 
The  danger  Euphrates  that  the  danger  seemed  most  press- 
on  the  ing.     There  the  Parthians,  long  kept  in  check 

Euphrates        ,    ^   .  r  t^      •      ,  -r. 

was  most  by  the  memory  of  Trajan's  military  prowess, 
pressing.  ^^^  ^^  ^j^^  skilful  policy  of  his  successors, 
challenged  once  more  the  arms  of  Rome.  Years  ago  they 
had  taken  offence,  it  seems,  because  a  ruler  had  been 
chosen  for  the  dependent  kingdom  of  Armenia,  which 
had  been  the  debateable  gi'ound  for  ages  between  the 
empires  of  the  East  and  of  the  West.  For  awhile  the 
war  had  been  averted  by  fair  words  or  watchful  caution, 
but  the  storm  burst  at  last  at  an  unguarded  moment, 
and  swept  over  the  border  lands  with  unresisted  fury. 
Armenia  fell  into  the  invaders'  hands  almost  without 
a  blow.  The  city  in  which  the  Roman  general  stood  at 
bay  was  taken  by  storm  ;  a  whole  legion  cut  to  pieces  ; 
and  Syria  was  laid  open  to  the  conquerors,  who  pressed 
on  to  ravage  and  to  plunder. 

The  danger  was  imminent  enough  to  call  for  the 
presence  of  an  Emperor  in  the  field,  and  Verus  started 
Verus  for  the  East  to  rouse  the  soldiers'  courage  and 

theEast  Organize  the  forces  of  defence.  With  him  or 
A.D.  162.  before  him  went  skilled  advisers  to  direct  the 
plan  of  the  campaign,  chief  among  whom  was  Avidius 
C'assius^  a  leader  of  ancient  hardihood  and  valour.     It  wa§ 


i47-i8cx-       Marcus  Anrelius  Antojjinus.  89 

well  for  Roman  honour  that  resolute  men  were  in  com- 
mand.    For  the  soldiers  were  demoralized  by  long  years 
of  peace.     Sloth  and  self-indulgence  in  the  Syrian  cities 
had  proved  fatal  to  their  discipline  ;  and  pro-    where  the 
fligate  Antioch,  above  all,  with  its  ill-famed     ^erfdl- 
haunts  of  Daphne,  had  unnerved  the  vigour    moralised. 
of  their  manhood.     They  cared  little,  as  we  read,  that 
their  horses  were  ill  groomed  and  their  equipments  out 
of  gear,  so  long  as  their  arms  were  light  enough  to  be 
borne  with  ease,  and  their  saddles  stuffed  with  down. 

Verus,  the  general-in-chief,  vvas  worthy  of  such  troops. 
He  was  in  no  haste  to  reach  the  seat  of  war,  alarming  as 
were  the  tidings  which  each  fresh  courier  brought.     He 
lingered  in  the  south  of  Italy  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of 
the  chase,  and  dallied  amid  the  isles  of  Greece,  where 
all  his  interests  seemed  to  centre  in  the  charms  of  music 
and  of  song.     The  attractions   of  the  towns  upon  the 
coast  of  Asia  tempted  him  often  to  halt  upon  the  way, 
and  when  at  last  he  came  to  Antioch  he  stooped  so  low 
as  to  treat  for  peace  with  the  invader,  and  only  resolved 
to  prosecute  the   war   in   earnest   when   the   Parthians 
spurned  the  proffered  terms.    Even  then  he  had  no  mind 
to  take  the  field  in  person,  or  risk  the  hazards  of  a  soldier's 
life,  but  loitered  far  behind,  safe  in  the  rear     in  spite  of 
of  all  the  fighting,  and  gave  himself  up  with-    ^^d\"*^and 
out  reserve  to    frivolous   gaieties   and   sen-    sloth,  his 
sual  excess,  till  even  indolent  natives  of  the    made^the 
Syrian   towns  began    to    scoff,  and   courtly    ^^'"r^'^^^ 
panegyrists  found  it  hard  to  gloss  over  his     peace, 
slothful  incapacity  with  their  flattering  phrases. 

But  hardier  troops  were  in  the  field  meantime  than 
the  licentious  garrison  of  Antioch.  The  armies  of  the 
distant  frontiers  sent  their  contingents  to  the  East,  and  at 
least  eight  legions  may  be  traced  in  the  campaigns  that 
followed,  besides  a  multitude  of  auxiliary  forces, 


90  The  Age  of  the  Auto  nines.  a.d. 

Happily  there  were  also  skilful  generals  to  handle  them 
aright.  Statins  Priscus,  the  commander  who  had  been 
put  forward  by  his  men  against  his  will  as  a  pretender  to 
the  throne,  proved  his  loyalty  once  more  by  his  success- 
ful march  into  Armenia,  and  the  conquest  of  its  capital 
Artaxata.  Avidius  Cassius  meantime,  with  the  bulk  of 
the  Roman  army,  pushed  on  direct  towards  Parthia, 
proved  his  valour  and  address  in  many  a  hard-fought 
battle,  and  drove  back  the  beaten  enemy  at  last  beyond 
the  walls  of  Seleucia  and  Ctesiphon.  The  humbled 
Parthians  sued  for  peace,  and  gained  it  at  the  price  of  the 
border  lands  between  the  two  great  rivers.  The  fame  of 
these  achievements  found  an  echo  possibly  in  the  far 
regions  of  the  east  of  Asia,  where  no  sound  of  western 
armies  had  hitherto  been  heard.  The  native  chroniclers 
of  China  date  the  first  Roman  embassy  to  the  Celestial 
Empire,  with  its  presents  of  tortoiseshell  and  ivory,  from 
the  very  year  in  which  the  war  with  Parthia 

•A.D.  l66.  1         t        i  ,  .   .  ,      ,  .        , 

closed ;  but  the  visitors,  whether  simply 
merchants  or  official  envoys,  entered  China  from  the 
south,  and  not  by  the  direct  route  through  central  Asia, 
which  when  they  started  was  doubtless  barred  to  them  by 
the  movements  of  the  armies  in  the  field. 

Five  years  had  passed  away  in  the  course  of  the 
campaign,  and  Verus  at  length  unwillingly  prepared  to 
Verus  leave  the  scene  of  his  soldiers'  glory,  but  of  his 

mer?o?the  °^^  shame.  Once  only,  at  the  urgent  en- 
triumph,  treaties  of  his  court,  had  he  moved  to  the 
front  as  far  as  the  Euphrates.  He  had  journeyed  also  to 
Ephesus  to  meet  his  bride  Luc  ilia,  for  fear  that  Marcus 
Aurelius  might  come  with  her  in  person,  to  see  for 
himself  the  life  which  his  son-in-law  was  leading.  But 
his  time  was  chiefly  spent  in  listless  dalliance  and 
sybaritic  ease,  in  which  there  was  little  else  to  mark  the 
lapse   of  time   except  the  recurring   changes   from   hi^ 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  91 

winter-quarters  to  his  summer-palace.  There  was  little 
in  such  a  life  to  fire  the  fancy  of  poet  laureate  or  courtly 
chronicler.  Yet  if  we  read  the  letter  which  he  wrote  to 
Fronto  on  the  subject  of  the  Parthian  war,  w-e  shall  find 
that  he  expects  the  history  on  which  the  old  professor  was 
engaged  to  make  his  name  illustrious  to  future  ages.  He 
promises  that  his  generals  shall  forward  their  and  Fronto 
account  of  the  battles  and  campaigns,  with  ^^jj^^f  ^ 
special  memoirs  on  the  nature  of  the  country  panegyric, 
and  the  climate,  and  offers  even  to  send  some  notes 
himself,  so  great  is  his  desire  for  glory.  But  calmly,  as  a 
thing  of  course,  he  takes  the  credit  of  all  the  successes 
won  by  the  valour  of  his  captains,  and  begs  the  rhe- 
torician to  paint  in  striking  colours  the  general  dismay 
in  Syria  before  the  Emperor  arrived  upon  the  scene  to 
chain  victory  once  more  to  the  Roman  eagles.  The 
history  which  Fronto  wrote  has  not  survived  ;  but  we  may 
judge  perhaps  somewhat  of  its  tone,  and  of  the  author's 
willingness  to  cater  for  the  vanity  of  his  princely  corre- 
spondent, when  we  read  his  pretentious  eulogy  of  the 
struggle  of  generosity  between  the  two  co-rulers  on  the 
subject  of  the  titles  to  be  taken  in  honour  of  the  successes 
in  the  East.  Marcus  Aurehus  declined  to  be  called 
Parthicus  or  Armeniacus  in  memory  of  a  war  in  which  he 
took  no  part  ;  but  Verus,  not  to  be  outdone  in  seeming 
modesty,  would  only  accept  the  names  on  condition  that 
he  shared  them  with  his  colleague.  '  To  have  pressed 
this  point  and  won  it,'  says  the  courtier,  in  his  hyperbolic 
vein,  '  is  a  greater  thing  than  all  the  glories  of  the  past 
campaigns.  Many  a  stronghold  like  Artaxata  had  fallen 
before  the  onset  of  thy  conquering  arms,  but  it  was  left 
for  thy  eloquence  to  storm,  in  the  resolute  persistence  of 
thy  brother  to  refuse  the  proffered  honours,  a  fortress 
more  impregnable.' 

Little  is  told  us  of  what  passed  meantime  during  the 


92  Tke  Age  of  the  Antomnes.  a.d. 

five  years  in  Italy,  where  Marcus  Aurelius  ruled  alone  ; 
M.  Aurelius  ^^^  ^^^  scanty  fragments  of  our  knowledge 
meantime  come  chiefly  from  monumental  sources.  The 
charitable  endowments  for  poor  children  founded  by  the 
foundations,  charity  of  recent  Emperors  were  put  under  the 
charge  of  consulai  officials  instead  of  simple  knights,  in 
token  of  the  importance  of  the  work,  while  on  occasion 
of  the  imperial  marriage,  which  bound  the  princes  by 
fresh  ties,  the  claims  of  poverty  were  not  forgotten, 
but  fresh  funds  were  set  apart  to  rear  more  little  ones, 
who  were  to  bear  probably  the  names  of  the  two  reigning 
houses,  as  the  earlier  foundlings  had  been  called  after 
Trajan  and  Faustina. 

Another  measure  of  this  date  seems  to  have  been 
prompted  by  a  tender  interest  for  the  material  welfare 
of  the  people.  Some  four  or  five  officials  of  high  rank 
had  been  sent  from  Rome  of  late  with  large  powers  of 
appoints  jurisdiction  in  the  county  courts  of  Italy,  in 
juridici,  the  interest  alike  of  central  authority  and  local 
justice,  rising  as  they  did  above  the  town  councillors  and 
magistrates  of  boroughs.  These  ^  juridici^  as  they  were 
called,  were  now  entrusted  with  the  further  duty  of  watch- 
ing over  the  supplies  of  food,  and  the  regulation  of  the 
corn  trade,  for  Italy  was  letting  her  lands  pass  out  of 
culture,  and  growing  more  dependent  every  year  upon  the 
mercy  of  the  winds  and  the  surplus  of  foreign  harvests. 
An  inscription  found  at  Rimini  informs  us  that  the  seven 
wards  of  the  old  city,  and  all  the  corporations  in  it,  passed 
a  pubUc  vote  of  thanks  to  one  of  these  officials  for  his 
laborious  exertions  in  behalf  of  themselves  and  all  their 
and  a  pr^-  neighbours  in  the  hard  times  of  famine, 
tor  to  be  A  third  change  breathes  the  same  spirit  of 

orpharf"  °  compassiou  for  the  helpless  and  the  destitute, 
children,  ^  'praetor'  was  specially  commissioned  to 
ivatch  over  tne  welfare  of  orphan  children,  and  to  see  that 


147- 1  So-       Marcus  Atirehus  Antoftimes.  93 

the  guardians  did  not  abuse  their  trust  or  neglect  the  in- 
terests of  their  wards.  By  a  singular  coincidence  the 
first  of  the  officials  thus  appointed  became  soon  after  a 
juridiais  in  Northern  Italy,  and  also  won  an  honorary 
notice  of  the  energy  with  which  he  had  met  the  crisis 
of  a  famine,  and  brought  to  countless  homes  the  Emperor's 
thoughtful  tenderness. 

A  new  provision  was   closely  connected  with  these 
chano:es,  as  well  as  with  the  needs  of  a  well- 

,         ,  .„,.,.      T     1  ■,  3nd  causes 

ordered  state.     All  births  m  Italy  were  to  be     births  to  be 
registered  henceforth  in  a  public  office  within    ""^s'stered. 
the  space  of  thirty  days — a  necessary  step  if  public  01 
private  charity  were  to  try  to  cope  with  the  spread  01 
pauperism  and  despair. 

For  the  rest  the  Emperor  had  no  high  ambition,  nor 
cared  to  signalise  himself  by  great  achievements.  He  was 
content  to  let  the  Senate  rule,  and  treated  it  j^^  ^^^.j^ 
throughout  with  marked  respect,  being  always  unremit- 
present  at  its  meetings  when  he  could,  and  sdfalpublic 
when  business  was  pressing  he  sat  oftentimes  ^"smess ; 
till  nightfall.  He  never  spared  himself  meantime,  but 
worked  on  with  unremitting  labour  till  his  pale  face  and 
careworn  looks  told  all  who  loved  him  how  serious  was 
the  strain  upon  his  feeble  powers  of  body,  and  made  his 
physicians  warn  him  that  he  must  give  himself  more  rest 
or  die.  For  he  was  anxious  above  all  things  to  do  justice 
promptly  to  his  people,  by  himself  or  through  his 
servants,  and  to  have  no  arrears  of  work.  With  this 
view  he  added  largely  to  the  number  of  the  days  on 
which  the  law  courts  might  be  opened,  and  sought  the 
counsel  and  the  active  aid  of  the  most  enlightened  men 
around  him.  His  old  master  Junius  Rusticus  had  to 
give  up  his  learned  leisure,  and  take  perforce  to  politics, 
to  be  consul  first,  then  prefect  of  the  city,  to  show  his  old 
pupil  by  his  own  example  how  to  turn  the  Stoic  maxims. 


94  TIte  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

to  practical  account,  and  prove  that  the  ruler  of  mankind 
must  learn  to  govern  others  by  first  governing  himself. 

But  Marcus  Aurelius  had  little  leisure  after  this  to 

study  the    arts  of  civil    rule    in  peace,  for    untoward 

destiny  required  him  to  spend  the  best  years  of 

but  was  V-     i-r    .  •       1      •  r  .  , 

called  away  his  life  m  an  mglorious  warfare  with  enemies 
dutTeftothe  unknown  to  fame.  His  was  too  gentle  and 
distasteful  sensitive  a  nature  to  feel  at  home  among  the 
wor  o  war,  ^^j^jgg  .  ^qq  large-minded  to  be  dazzled  by  the 
vanity  of  fading  laurels.  The  war  was  none  of  his  own 
•jeeking,  and  he  would  gladly  have  purchased  peace  at 
any  price  save  that  of  honour  or  of  the  safety  of  his 
people.  But  the  dangers  were  very  imminent  and  grave, 
and  could  not  everywhere  be  safely  left  to  the  care  of 
generals  of  lower  rank.  The  austere  lessons  of  philosophy 
had  taught  him  not  to  play  the  sophist  with  his  con- 
science, or  to  shirk  distasteful  offices  when  duty  called. 

The  Roman  lines  lay  like  a  broad  belt  around  the 
civilised  world,  and  the  trusty  legionaries  stood  there  on 
watch  and  ward.  The  wild  tribes  beyond  had  been  long 
quiet,  cowed  seemingly  by  Trajan's  martial  energy  and 
Hadrian's  armaments  of  war.  But  now  some  passionate 
impulse  seemed  to  pass  like  a  fiery  cross  along  the 
borders,  and  barbarous  hordes  came  swarming  up  with 
fury  to  the  attack,  and  threatened  to  burst  the  barriers 
raised  against  them.  The  Parthians  had  been  humbled 
for  a  time,  but  were  soon  to  show  themselves  in  arms 
once  more.  The  Moors  of  Africa  were  on  the  move,  and 
before  long  were  «?weeping  over  Spain  with  havoc  and 
desolation  in  their  track.  The  Caledonians  of  the  far 
west  were  irritated  rather  than  frightened  by  the  long  lines 
of  wall  and  dyke  which  had  been  built  to  shut  them  in, 
and  their  untamed  fierceness  was  enough  to  make  the 
Roman  troops  retire  before  the  children  of  the  mist. 

From  the  mouth  of  the  Dniester  to  where  the  Rhine 


147-  »8o-       Marcus  Anrelms  Antoninus.  95 

bears  to  the  sea  the  waters  of  all  its  tributary  rivers  a 
multitude  of  restless  tribes  with  uncouth  names  and 
unknown  antecedents,  Teutonic,  Slave,  Finnish,  and 
Tartar,  were  roaming  in  hostile  guise  along  the  northern 
frontiers,  and  ready  to  burst  in  at  every  unguarded  point. 
It  is  time  to  enter  more  into  details  on  the  subject  of 
these  wars,  to  see  in  what  spirit  the  meditative  student 
faced  the  rough  work  of  war,  and  how  far  he  showed  the 
forethought  of  a  ruler  cast  on  evil  times. 

We  turn  with  natural  interest  to  read  of  the  fortunes 
of  his  arms  in  Britain,  but  there   are   only 
scanty  data  to  reward  our  search.     At  the    fortunes 
outset   of   this    period    a    new    commander,     rqJ^^ 
Calpurnius  Agricola  by  name,  had  been  sent    arms  in 

*^  ,        °  .•'  '  r  •   •  Britain. 

to  meet  the  threatenmg  rumours  of  a  rismg 
among  the  native  or  the  Roman  forces.  His  name  re- 
called the  memory  of  the  famous  captain  of  an  earlier 
age,  whose  career  of  glory  in  the  island  found  in  his 
kinsman  Tacitus  a  chronicler  of  note.  But  there  is  no 
evidence  that  the  efforts  of  the  later  general  were  crowned 
with  like  success.  Seven  years  afterwards  at  the  least  he 
is  mentioned  in  an  inscription  found  near  Hadrians  wall ; 
but  there  is  no  trace  of  any  forward  movement  in  the 
course  of  all  these  years,  not  a  single  monumental  notice 
of  a  Roman  soldier  upon  Scottish  soil,  though  under 
Antoninus  an  imperial  legate  had  pushed  his  way  some 
eighty  miles  beyond  the  old  ramparts  of  defence,  and 
raised  a  second  line  of  wall  and  dyke  between  the  Clyde 
and  the  Frith  of  Forth  to  screen  the  conquered  lands  from 
the  indomitable  races  of  the  north.  Reinforcements  had 
been  brought  meantime  from  countries  far  away ;  five 
thousand  horsemen  came  in  one  contingent  from  the  lower 
Danube,  where  a  friendly  tribe  had  taken  service  in  the 
pay  of  Rome,  but  they  found  their  match  in  the  hardy 
warriors  of  the  Picts  and  Scots,  before  whom  Sarmatian 


96  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a. ft. 

ferocity  and  Roman  discipline  combined  could  scarcely 
make  head  or  even  hold  their  ground.  But  formal  history 
hardly  deigns  to  note  their  doings  at  this  time,  and  the 
troubles  of  that  distant  province  seemed  insignificant 
enough,  no  doubt,  to  the  imperial  court. 

The  dangers  on  another  frontier  were  more  threat- 
ening. The  army  of  defence  upon  the  Danube  had  been 
The  danger  weakened  to  meet  the  pressure  of  the  Parthian 
on  the  war,  and  the  Marcomanni  and  their  neigh- 

was  more  bours,  who  were  constantly  on  the  alert,  had 
pressing,  taken  advantage  of  the  withdrawal  of  the 
legions,  and  harried  the  undefended  provinces  with  fire 
and  sword.  From  the  mouth  of  the  Danube  to  the 
confines  of  Illyria  the  barbarian  world  was  on  the 
move,  and  all  those  elements  of  disorder,  if  allowed 
to  gather  undisturbed,  might  roll  ere  long  as  an 
avalanche  of  ruin  on  the  south.  There  was  no  time  to 
be  lost  in  parrying  this  danger,  when  peace  was  restored 
on  the  Euphrates.  The  acclamations  of  the  city  populace 
had  hardly  died  away,  or  the  pomp  of  the  triumphal 
show  faded  from  men's  thoughts  when  both  Emperors 
resolved  to  start  together  to  conduct  their  armies  in  the 
field.  But  in  spite  of  the  successes  lately  won 
Emperors  they  were  in  no  cheerful  mood  to  open  fresh 
f'^r"he  campaigns.    The  tone  of  public  sentiment  was 

northern  sadly  low ;  the  brooding  fancy  of  the  people 
rentier,  ^^^^^  presages  of  disaster  and  defeat  for 
coming  days  from  the  misfortunes  of  the  present.  The 
while  the  effects  of  the  famine  were  still  felt  in  Italy, 
plague  was  though  ycars  had  passed  since  its  ravages  had 
rapidly  first  bcgun,  and  officers  of  state  had  been  ready 

rSre,^^^  with  their  timely  succours.  A  yet  more  fatal 
A.D.  167.  visitant  had  stalked  among  them,  and  spread 
a  panic  through  the  hearts  of  men.  The  soldiers  who 
had  come  back  from  the  East  to  take  part  in  the  reviews 


1 47- 1  So,       Marcus  Atirelhis  Antoninus.  97 

which  graced  the  public  triumph,  or  to  return  to  their  old 
quarters,  brought  with  them  the  fatal  seeds  of  plague, 
and  spread  them  rapidly  through  all  the  countries  of  the 
West.  The  scourge  passed  on  its  desolating  course 
from  land  to  land.  In  the  capital  itself  numbers  of 
honoured  victims  fell,  while  deaths  followed  so  fast  upon 
each  other  that  all  the  carriages  available  were  needed  for 
the  transport  of  the  plague-stricken  corpses  through  the 
streets.  Stringent  laws  had  to  be  passed  to  regulate  the 
interment  of  the  bodies,  and  provisions  made  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  poorer  classes,  for  whom  the  state  took  up  the 
task  which  slipped  from  their  despairing  hands.  While 
men's  hearts  were  thus  faihng  them  for  fear,  and  death  was 
knocking  at  the  door  of  every  class  without  distinction, 
appeal  was  made  to  the  ministrations  of  religion  to  soothe 
and  reassure  their  troubled  minds.  Lectisternia,  as  they 
were  called,  were  solemnised ;  days  of  public  mourning 
and  humiliation  set  apart ;  and  as  if  the  old  national 
deities  were  ineffectual  to  save,  men  turned  in  their 
bewilderment  to  the  mystic  rites  of  alien  creeds,  and  drew 
near  with  offering  and  prayer  to  the  altars  of  many  an 
unknown  god. 

The  races  of  the  North  meantime,  who  had  learnt  that 
the  Emperors  were  on  the  way,  already  heard  The  border 
upon  the  border  the  tramp  of  the  advancing  S?"bef  for 
legions,  and  their  ardour  for  war  was  cooling  peace ; 
fast  in  the  presence  of  the  forces  of  defence.  Hardly 
had  the  princes  arrived  at  Aquileia,  when  the  tidings 
came  that  their  enemies  had  withdrawn  beyond  the  river, 
and  were  sending  in  hot  haste  envoys  to  sue  for  peace, 
bearing  the  heads  of  the  counsellors  who  had  urged  them 
to  attack  the  Roman  lines.  So  complete  seemed  the 
discouragement  among  them  that  the  Quadi,  who  were  at 
the  time  without  a  leader,  asked  to  have  a  chieftain  given 
them  by  Rome.    Verus,  we  read,  in  the  carelessness  ot 

A.H.  H 


98  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

his  self-indulgent  nature,  thought  that  the  danger  was 
quite  over,  and  was  urgent  to  return.  But  it  needed 
little  foresight  to  discern  that  it  was  but  a  temporary 
lull  in  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  that  only  a  stern  and 
watchful  front  could  maintain  the  ground 
long  are  in  which  had  been  won.  The  meagre  annals 
^Tthr'"'  of  the  period  fail  to  tell  us  how  long  the 
Emperors,  Emperors  were  in  the  field.  We  only  hear  that 
to  attack  within  two  years  of  their  return  they  were 
'^®™'  summoned  from  Rome  once  more  by  the  news 

A.D.  169,  ^^^  ^^  hollow  truce  was  broken,  and  their  old 
enemies  again  in  arms.  They  set  out  together,  as  before, 
for  Aquileia,  where  the  armies  were  to  be  organized  and 
drilled  during  the  winter  months,  to  be  ready  for  the 
spring  when  the  campaign  might  open  in  real  earnest. 

But  the  plague,  whose  ravages  had  never  wholly 
ceased  meantime,  broke  out  afresh  with  redoubled  fury 
in  the  crowded  camp,  and  the  death  rate  mounted  with 
alarming  speed.  The  famous  Galen  was  called  in 
are  checked  to  try  all  that  medical  experience  and  skill 
spread  of  could  do,  but  his  efforts  failed  to  arrest  the 
the  plague,  spread  of  pestilence  or  bring  its  victims  back 
to  health.  In  face  of  such  fearful  waste  of  life  the  plan 
of  the  war  had  to  be  changed.  The  camp  was  broken  up 
without  delay  ;  the  various  battalions  were  dispersed  in 
separate  cantonments ;  and  the  Emperors  set  forth  on 
their  return. 

They  were  not  far  upon  the  homeward  way  when,  at 
Altinum,  Verus  was  struck  down  with  a  sudden  attack, 
which  is  from  which  he  never  rallied,  and  Marcus 
fatal  to  Aurelius  was  left  to  rule  alone.     Alone  indeed 

^""'  he  had  often  stood  already ;    the  colleague 

who  was  taken  from  him  had  helped  him  little  with  the 
cares  of  state,  and  there  were  few  who  could  regret  his 
loss.     Unnerved  by  years  of  selfish  luxury  in  the  East, 


i47-  i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  99 

Verus  had  come  back  with  shattered  body  and  with 
diseased  mind  to  startle  the  sober  citizens  of  Rome  with 
freaks  of  dissolute  wantonness  which  recalled  the 
memory  of  Nero  and  the  orgies  of  his  House  of  Gold. 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  not  blind  to  the  luxury  and  ex- 
travagance of  his  ignoble  nature.  He  had  sent  him  to 
the  East,  perhaps,  in  hope  that  the  braver  manhood  in 
him  might  be  roused  by  the  sobering  contact  of  real 
cares.  He  had  seen  to  his  dismay  that  the  careless 
worldling  had  come  back  with  a  motley  train  of  actors, 
dancers,  parasites,  and  buffoons,  to  be  the  pastimes  of 
his  idle  life,  while  in  default  of  manher  pleasures  he 
loved  to  have  the  poor  gladiators  in  to  fence  and  hack 
themselves  before  his  eyes. 

Still  the  Emperor  had  borne  calmly  and  patiently  the 
vices  of  his  colleague,  and  even  now  that  he  was  dead 
he  proposed  the  usual  vote  of  honours  in  the    xhence- 
Senate  ;  but  he  dropped  some  words,  perhaps    fonh  M. 
unconsciously,   which    betrayed  to    watchful    reigned^ 
ears  that  he  had  long  chafed    and  fretted,    ^^°"*' 
though  in  silence,  and  now  was  resolved  to  rule  alone 
without  the  embarrassment  of  divided  power.     He  might 
perhaps   have  been   more   careful  had  he   known   that 
rumour  was  busy  with  the  death  of  Verus,  and  point- 
ing to  foul  play  with  which  his  own  name  was  coupled, 
though    indeed    in    all  days    of   personal    government 
scandalous  gossip  circulates  about  the  court,  and,  as  an 
old  biographer  remarks,  no  one  can  hope  to  rise  above  sus- 
picion if  the  pure  name  of  M.  Aurelius  was  thus  befouled. 

He  had  lost  also  a  young  son  whom  he  loved  fondly 
and  mourned  deeply,  for  the  sages  of  the  Porch  had  never 
taught  him,  as  they  did  to  others,  to  disguise  his  feelings 
under  a  cloak  of  Stoic  calm,  and  the  Senate's  votes  of 
honours  and  of  statues  were  but  a  sorry  comfort  to  the 
tender  father 

H  2 


loo  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

But  he  had  little  leisure  for  his  grief.  The  danger  on 
the  Danube  was  still  urgent,  and  the  same  year  saw  him 
once  more  on  his  way  northward,  to  guide  the 
soon^Sled  plans  and  share  the  labours  of  the  war.  All 
to"thrs°eat  through  his  reign  that  danger  lasted  ;  nor  did 
of  war  in  he  ever  shirk  the  irksome  duty,  but  was 
constantly  upon  the  scene  of  action,  and  lived 
henceforth  more  on  the  frontier  than  at  Rome.  In 
default  of  full  details  in  the  ancient  writers  we  may 
where  the  judge  how  arduous  was  the  struggle  by  the 
long^llf/''^  evidence  of  the  inscriptions.  Of  the  thirty 
arduous.  legions  which  made  up  the  regular  comple- 
ment of  the  Roman  army,  more  than  half  took  part  in 
the  Marcomannic  war,  and  have  left  repeated  tokens  of 
their  presence  in  epitaphs  or  votive  offerings.  We 
may  find  the  traces  also  of  the  irregular  contingents 
which  marched  with  them  to  the  field  from  many  a  far- 
off  province  and  its  fringe  of  barbarous  races,  and  which 
though  variously  manned  and  armed  were  welded  into 
unity  by  the  stern  discipline  of  Rome.  For  she  soon 
learned  the  lesson,  since  familiar  to  the  world,  to  group 
distinct  nationalities  round  a  common  centre  by  a  strong 
imperial  system  in  which  each  helped  in  arms  to  keep 
the  others  down.  As  the  war  went  on,  the  Emperor  had 
recourse  to  far  more  questionable  levies,  if  what  we  read 
is  true,  enrolling  exiles,  gladiators,  and  even  slaves  in  two 
new  legions  which  he  brought  into  the  field.  The  work 
of  recruiting  went  slowly  forward,  and  could  scarcely 
supply  the  constant  drain  of  war.  The  central  provinces 
had  long  ago  wearied  of  military  service,  since  Augustus 
raised  his  legions  on  the  border  lands,  and  at  Rome  itself 
no  volunteers  would  answer  to  the  call ;  but  the  lazy 
rabble  hooted  as  they  saw  the  gladiators  go,  and  said 
in  hot  displeasure,  *  Our  gloomy  prince  would  rob  us 
even  of  our  pleasures  to  make  us  turn  philosophers.' 


I47-I80.       Marcus  A urelius  Antcminns.  lOi 


The  pestilence  was  still  abread^aiid  s'preadit^lraVajje^ 
among  the  ranks,  clouding  with  discouragement  all  their 
hopes  and  efforts.  They  showed  little  courage  in  the  field ; 
sometimes  they  were  driven  back  in  panic  fear.  In  one 
such  rout  the  fortress  of  Aquileia  had  nearly  fallen,  but 
the  bravery  of  its  garrison  saved  it  from  disaster.  To 
make  matters  worse,  the  treasury  was  empty,  drained 
perhaps  by  the  charitable  outlay  for  the  sufferers  by 
plague  and  famine.  The  Emperor  drew  upon  his  privy 
purse ;  when  that  too  failed,  he  stripped  his  palaces  of 
their  costly  furniture,  put  up  to  auction  the  art-treasures 
which  Hadrian's  fine  taste  had  gathered  in  the  course 
of  the  journeys  of  a  lifetime,  and  sold  them  all  without 
reserve,  while  for  himself  he  needed  little  more  than  the 
general's  tent  and  soldier's  cloak. 

Brighter  days  set  in  at  last  to  reward  his  persevering 
courage,  though  dangers  meantime  had  thickened  in  his 
path.  The  tribes  of  the  Rhine  and  Danube  had  joined 
nands,  forgetting  for  a  while  their  mutual  rivalries  in  the 
hope  of  carrying  the  Roman  lines  in  one  great  simulta- 
neous assault.  Their  women  were  stirred  with  patriotic 
ardour,  and  fought  and  died  beside  their  husbands.  The 
rigour  of  the  winter  could  not  check  them  ;  for  in  time  of 
frost,  we  read,  they  challenged  the  legionaries  to  mortal 
duel  on  the  ice-bound  river,  where  the  southerners, 
dismayed  at  first,  found  a  firm  footing  at  the  last  by 
standing  on  their  shields,  and  closing  in  a  death  grapple 
with  the  foe.  In  the  ranks  of  Rome  none  showed  more 
resolution  than  the  Emperor  himself,  none  faced  with  a 
calmer  or  a  stouter  heart  the  hardship  of  the  wintry 
climate,  the  monotony  of  the  life  of  camps,  or  the  horrors 
of  the  crash  of  war.  At  length  he  v.  as  rewarded  by  see- 
ing the  assailants  sullenly  retire  before  the  firm  front  of 
his  array  ;  and  the  Danubian  provinces  were  left  a  while 
undisturbed. 


1 02  The  A.ge  of  the  A  ntonines,  a. d. 

.  :  '.Wl 'copteVt  with'^restirfg  on  his  laurels  he  set  forth 

to  chastise  the  Quadi,  and  drive  back  the  hostile  tribes 

yet   further  from  his  borders.      The  hard  winter  had 

been  followed  by  a  hot  and  parching  summer  which 

made  the  labours  of  the  march  exhausting  to 

When  the         ^,        ^  ^         ,  .  ,  .     ,  ®, 

Marcoman-  the  troops.  In  the  midst  of  the  campaign 
was^ver  for  ^^^^  ^^^^  lured  into  a  pass  where  the  natives 
a  time,  the  beset  them  on  all  sides.  Worn  out  by  heat 
a^nst^e  and  thirst,  and  harassed  by  continual  onsets, 
foUowed  ^^^y  vitxQ.  on  the  point  of  breaking  in  disgrace- 
ful rout  when  the  scorching  sun  was  covered, 
and  the  rain  burst  in  torrents  from  the  clouds  to  cool 
and  refresh  the  weary  combatants.  The  enemy  came 
swarming  up  once  more  to  the  attack,  but  they  were  met 
with  pelting  hail  and  lightning  flashes,  and  driven  back 
in  utter  consternation  to  lay  down  their  arms  before  the 
imperial  forces.  Dion  Cassins,  who  tells  the  story  in 
greatest  detail,  accounts  for  the  marvel  by  the  magic  incan- 
tations of  an  Egyptian  in  the  army,  whose  potent  spells 
unlocked  the  windows  of  heaven,  and  called  to  the  rescue 
powers  unseen.  And  in  accordance  with  the  legend  we 
may  see  on  the  monumental  column,  which  pourtrays  in 
sculptured  forms  the  mihtary  story  of  this  reign,  a  Jupiter 
Pluvius  of  giant  stature  whose  arms  and  hair  seem  drip- 
ping with  the  moisture  which  the  Romans  run  to  gather, 
while  the  thunderbolts  are  falling  fast  meantime  upon  the 
hostile  ranks.  But  Xiphilinus,  the  Christian  monk  who 
in  the  abridged  the  historian's  tedious  chapters,  taxes 

course  of  his  author  roundly  with  inventing  a  lying  tale 
read  of  the  to  support  the  Credit  of  the  heathen  gods.  His 
^■^vl\%  pious  fancy  fondly  dwells  upon  a  miracle  of 
the  'Thun-  grace,  vouchsafed  in  answer  to  the  Christian 
l«^OT.'  prayers  of  a  battalion  come  from  Melitene,  in 
A.D.  174.  ^.jjg  ga^gj.  Qf  Asia,  which  was  called  thenceforth 
the  '  Thundering '  legion,  in  token  of  the  prodigy  wrought 


147- 1 8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  103 

by  their  ministry  of  intercession.  The  fathers  of  the 
Church  took  kindly  to  the  story,  and  pointed  the  moral 
with  becoming  fervour.  But  the  twelfth  legion,  which  had 
indeed  been  sent  long  since  from  the  siege  of  Jerusalem 
to  Melitene,  to  defend  the  line  of  the  Euphrates,  had 
borne  in  earlier  years  the  name,  not  of '  Fulminans '  indeed 
but  '  Fulminata,'  and  so  appears  on  an  inscription  which 
was  written  as  early  as  the  time  of  Nero. 

There  was  now  a  prospect  of  at  least  a  breathing  space 
in  the  long  struggle  with  the  races  of  the  North.  The 
humbled  tribes  consented  to  give  back  the  captives  swept 
away  in  border  forays.  The  human  spoil  to  be  surrendered 
by  the  Quadi  reached  the  tale  of  50,000,  and  a  neighbour- 
ing race  which  had  resisted  with  desperate  valour  re- 
stored, we  are  told,  twice  that  number  when  the  war  was 
closed.  Some  hordes  of  the  Marcomanni  consented  to 
abandon  their  old  homes,  and  were  quartered  in  the 
country  near  Ravenna  ;  but  before  long  they  tired  of  the 
dulness  of  inglorious  peace,  and  took  once  more  to 
butchery  and  rapine,  till  Italy  sadly  rued  the  fatal  ex- 
periment which  future  Emperors  were  one  day  to  copy. 

The  Emperor  was  still  busy  with  the  arrears  of  work 
which  the  war  had  brought  with  it  in  its  train,  when  the 
alarming  news  arrived  that  a  governor  in  the    ^, 

T-  •.      1        •       n      ■.        ••  /.  1  1        I '^e  revolt 

East  had  raised  the  banner  of  revolt,  and  of  Ayidius 
seemed  likely  to  carry  with  him  the  whole  ^assms; 
province  as  well  as  the  legions  under  his  command. 
Avidius  Cassius  had  won  distinction  in  the  Parthian 
campaigns,  and  to  his  skill  and  energ)'^  the  successes  of 
the  war  were  largely  due,  while  the  general  in  chief  was 
lounging  at  ease  in  the  haunts  of  Syrian  luxury.  He 
had  been  chosen  at  the  first  as  a  commander  of  the 
good  old  type  to  tighten  the  bands  of  disciphne  among 
the  dissolute  soldiers  who  were  more  formidable  to  quiet 
citizens  than  to  the  foe.      He  soon  checked  with  an 


I04  The  Age  of  ike  Antonines.  a.d 

unsparing  hand  the  spread  of  luxury  and  self-indulgence, 
let  them  stroll  no  more  at  will  in  the  licentious  precincts 
of  Daphne,  or  in  like  scenes  of  riot,  but  kept  them  to  hard 
fare  and  steady  drill,  threatening  to  make  them  winter  in 
the  open  field,  till  he  had  them  perfectly  in  hand. 
Before  long  a  new  spirit  of  hardihood  and  valour  spread 
among  the  ranks,  till  the  army,  going  forward  with  their 
leader  in  the  path  of  glory,  proved  itself  worthy  of  the 
ancient  memories  of  Rome. 

Yet  Verus  eyed  with  jealousy  the  talents  which 
eclipsed  his  own,  was  stung  by  words  or  looks  of  sarcasm 
which  fell  sometimes  from  the  hardy  soldier,  or  perhaps 
divined  the  latent  germs  of  the  ambition  which  was  one 

day  to  make  a  rebel  of  the  loyal  warrior.  He 
whom  M.  warned  his  brother  Emperor  to  be  upon  his 
had  been  guard,  and  urged  him  even  to  dismiss  the 
warned  in       general  from  his  post  before  his  influence  with 

the  army  grew  too  potent.  The  answer  of  M. 
Aurelius  is  recorded,  and  throws  an  interesting  light  on 
his  pure  unselfish  nature.  '  I  have  read,'  he  writes,  *  the 
letter  in  which  you  give  utterance  to  fears  ill-becoming 
an  Emperor  or  a  government  like  ours.  If  it  is  the 
will  of  heaven  that  Cassius  should  mount  the  throne, 
resistance  on  our  part  is  idle.  Your  own  forefather  used 
to  say  that  no  prince  can  kill  his  own  successor.  If  it  is 
not  written  in  the  book  of  destiny  that  he  shall  reign, 
disloyal  efforts  on  his  part  will  be  followed  by  his  fall. 
Why  then  deprive  ourselves,  on  mere  suspicion,  of  a 
good  general,  whose  services  are  needful  to  the  state  ? 
His  death,  you  say,  would  secure  the  prospects  of  my 
children.  Nay,  but  it  will  be  time  for  the  sons  of  M. 
Aurelius  to  die  when  Cassius  is  able  more  than  they  to 
win  the  love  and  further  the  happiness  of  our  people.' 
Nor  were  these  mere  idle  phrases,  for  Cassius  was 
retained  in  command  of  Syria  and  the  border  armies, 


147- i8o.       Marcus  Aurehns  Antoninus.  105 

and  treated  with  an  undiminished  confidence,  which  he 
repaid  by  queUing  a  revolt  in  Egypt  and  by  victories  in 
Arabia. 

But  the  man  of  action  seems  to  have  despised  the 
scholar  prince  as  a  mere  bookworm,  fitter  to  take  part  in 
verbal  quibbles  than  in  cares  of  state,  to  have    The  con- 
thought  him  too  easy-tempered  and  indulgent    'rSsed  b" 
to  keep  strict  watch  over  his  servants  and    Avidius 
check  their  knavery  and  greed.     In  a  letter  to     th^poieS 
his   son-in-law,  which   is  still  preserved,   he    ST*^^* 

'  *■  '  Emperor  as 

dwells  on  such  abuses,  how  truly  we  have  no    a  ruler, 
means  of  knowing.     '  Marcus  is  a  very  worthy  man,  but 
in  his  wish  to  be  thought  merciful  he  bears    vulcacii 
with  those  of  whose  character  he  thinks  but    Galiicani  a 
ill.    Where  is  Cato  the  old  censor,  where  are    ^^ 
the  strict  rules  of  ancient  times  .^     They  ai-e  vanished 
long  ago,  and  no  one  dreams  of  reviving  them  again  ;  for 
our  prince   spends  his  time   in  star-gazing,  in  fine  talk 
about  the  elements  and  the  human  soul,  in  questions  of 
justice  and  of  honour,  but  neglects  the  interests  of  state 
meanwhile.     There  is  need  to  draw  the  sword,  to  prune 
and  lop  away  with  energy,  before  the  commonwealth  can 
be  put  upon  its  former  looting.     As  for  the  governors  of 
the  provinces,  if  governors  they  can  be  called  who  think 
that  offices  of  state  are  given  them  that  they  may  hve 
at  ease  and  make  their  fortunes — was  not   a    and  com- 
praetorian    praefect    only    the    other    day    a    ^uboSu^^*' 
starveling  mendicant,  rich  as  he  is  now  ? — let    nates. 
them  enjoy  their  wealth  and  take  their  pleasure  while 
they  can,  for   if  heaven  smiles  upon  my  cause    they 
shall  fill  the  treasury  with  the  riches  they  disgorge.'     It 
would  be  hazardous  to  accept  the  views  of  a   discon- 
tented rival  in  place  of  solid  evidence  upon  this  subject ; 
but  it  is  hkely    enough  that  the  Emperor  may  have 
been  too  tolerant  and  gentle  to   repress  with  needful 


ro6  TJie  Age  of  the  Antonines,  a.d. 

promptitude  the  abuses  of  his  servants.  The  machinery 
of  government  was  perhaps  out  of  gear  when  the  chief 
who  applied  the  motive  force  was  busy  with  a  great 
war  upon  a  distant  frontier,  and  glad  to  steal  the 
moments  of  his  leisure  for  the  congenial  studies  of  philo- 
sophy. 

Certainly  if  we  may  trust  the  stories  gleaned  by  the 
writers  of  a  later  age,  Avidius  Cassius  was  not  the  man 
to  err  on  the  side  of  sentimental  weakness.  He  had 
gained  a  name,  it  seems,  among  the  soldiers  for  a  severity 
near  akin  to  cruelty,  had  invented  startling  forms  of 
punishment  for  marauders  and  deserters,  crucifying 
some  in  frightful  torments,  and  leaving  others  hamstrung 
by  the  way  to  be  a  living  warning  to  the  rest.  He 
carried  the  sternness  of  his  discipline  so  far  as  to  hurry 
off  to  execution  the  officers  who  had  just  returned  in 
triumph  from  a  border  foray  for  which  he  had  himself 
given  no  sanction.  But  we  can  put  little  trust  in  the 
talk  of  the  day,  for  few  cared  to  deal  tenderly  with  the 
memory  of  an  unsuccessful  rebel.  Probably  it  is  only 
such  an  afterthought  of  history  when  we  are  told  that  he 
came  of  the  family  of  Cassius,  the  murderer  of  the  great 
Caesar,  and  that  like  his  ancestor  he  hated  the  very  name 
of  monarchy,  deploring  often  that  the  imperial  power 
could  only  be  assailed  by  one  who  must  be  emperor 
himself.  It  is  idle  now  upon  such  evidence  as  we  possess 
to  speculate  upon  his  motives,  or  to  say  how  far  personal 
We  know  ambition  was  disguised  by  larger  and  unselfish 
little,  of  the     aims.    Of  Marcus  Aurelius  he  seldom  spoke, 

motives  of  .  ,  , .  .  ^  ,  ' 

the  move-  at  least  m  public,  save  m  respectful  tones,  and 
So?failed.  o^ly  appealed  to  his  partisans  to  rally  round 
A.D  175.  him  when  a  false  rumour  of  the  prince's 
death  was  spread  abroad. 

The  movement  was  short-lived,  threatening  as  was 
its  march  at  first.     It  spread  through  Syria  without  let 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  107 

or  hindrance,  and  all  beyond  the  Taurus  was  won  by  the 
usurper's  arms.  It  seemed  that  there  was  no  time  to  be 
lost ;  and  the  Emperor  was  on  his  way  to  face  the  struggle 
in  which  an  empire  was  at  stake,  when  the  news  came 
that  Cassius  was  no  more,  having  met  an  inglorious 
death  by  the  hand  of  a  petty  officer  of  his  own  army,  the 
victim  of  revenge  more  probably  than  loyal  ^^ 
feeling.  The  Emperor  heard  the  tidings  Emperor 
calmly,  showed  regret  at  the  death  of  the  tindictivT 
pretender,  and  would  sanction  no  vindictive  f^^^'"^' 
measures,  though  Faustina,  whom  idle  rumour  has 
accused  of  urging  Cassius  to  revolt,  had  written  to  him 
before  in  a  tone  of  passionate  resentment,  praying  him 
not  to  spare  the  traitor,  but  to  think  of  the  safety  of  his 
children.  He  answered  her  with  tenderness,  chiding  her 
gently  for  her  revengeful  language,  and  reminding  her 
that  mercy  was  the  blessed  prerogative  of  imperial  power. 
He  wrote  in  a  like  spirit  to  the  Senate  also,  to  let  its 
members  know  that  he  would  have  no  sentence  of  at- 
tainder passed  on  the  wife  or  children  of  the  fallen  leader, 
and  no  proscription  of  his  partisans.  For  himself  he  only 
wished  that  none  had  died  already,  to  rob  him  of  his 
privilege  of  mercy,  and  now  he  was  resolved  that  in  that 
cause  no  more  blood  should  flow.  The  Senate  read  his 
words  with  gladness,  were  well  pleased  to  drop  the  veil 
on  the  intrigues  in  which  some  of  their  own  body  were 
concerned,  and  carefully  entered  on  their  minutes  all  the 
dutiful  phrases  and  ejaculations  in  which  the  counsellors 
showed  their  thankfulness  and  admiration.  The  letters 
and  despatches  of  the  rebel,  which  were  full,  probably, 
of  fatal  evidence  against  his  accomplices  in  the  army  or 
at  Rome,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  governor  of  Syria,  or 
some  said  of  the  Emperor  himself,  but  were  burnt  without 
delay  to  relieve  the  fears  of  the  survivors. 

The    people    of    Antioch    had    sided    eagerly    with 


io8  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

Cassius,  and  used  their  wit  in  contemptuous  jest  against 
but  went  to  their  prince,  moving  him  to  resent  their  dis- 
Se/inthe  loyalty  by  forbidding  for  a  while  all  public 
East.  gatherings  for  business  or  pleasure.      Soon^ 

however,  he  relented,  and  even  visited  the  city,  when  he 
passed  by  in  his  state  progress  to  restore  order  to  the 
troubled  East.  Now  for  the  first  time  in  his  career  could 
he  set  foot  in  those  far-off  regions,  and  wander  among 
the  memories  of  ancient  peoples.  Before  he  left  Rome, 
as  it  would  seem,  he  had  the  tribunician  title  conferred 
on  Commodus,  the  son  who  was  soon  to  take  his  place, 
and  then  more  than  a  year  was  spent  in  the  long  journey. 
His  wife  ^^^  ^^^^  Faustina  died  upon  the  way,  at  a 
Faustina  tiny  village  near  the  range  of  Taurus,  which 
the  way?'^  was  raised,  in  honour  of  her,  to  the  dignity  of 
A.D.  175.  2i  city  and  a  colony.  For  the  empress  her- 
self the  Senate  passed,  at  his  request,  the  solemn  vote 
which  raised  her  to  the  rank  of  the  immortals,  and 
one  of  the  sculptures  of  his  triumphal  arch  pourtrayed 
her  as  borne  aloft  to  heaven  by  the  guardian  arms  ot 
Fame. 

He  took  Egypt  in  his  homeward  way,  and  at  Alex- 
andria was  willing  to  forget  the  signs  of  sympathy  which 
the  citizens  had  shown  his  rival,  leaving  his  daughter  to 
their  care  in  token  of  the  confidence  with  which  he  trusted 
them.  At  Smyrna  he  wished  to  hear  the  eminent 
Aristides  lecture,  whose  vanity  was  such  that  he  would 
only  consent  to  speak  while  attended  with  a  long  train  of 
pupils,  who  must  have  free  liberty  to  clap  him  when 
they  would.  The  Emperor  let  them  all  in  willingly 
enough,  and  himself  gave  the  signal  for  applause  at  the 
eloquent  periods  of  the  famous  sophist. 

At  Athens,  where  he  left  some  lasting  traces  of  his 
visit  in  the  endowment  of  professorial  chairs,  he  had 
himself  admitted  to  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  whose 
venerable  symbols  might  haply  shadow  forth  to  his  in- 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  109 

quiring  fancy  some  new  beliefs  or  hopes  about  the  world 
unseen. 

For  more  than  a  year  the  Emperor  had  rest  at  Rome, 
and  signalised  his  period  of  repose  by  charitable  cares 
for  the  Puell(2  Faustiniance,  the  poor  girls    During  his 
who  were  to  be  reared  in  memory  of  his  wife,    short  rest  at 

,  ,  ,  ,,_  _,  Rome,  A.D. 

and  bear  her  name.     We  may  see  at  Rome  a    177,  he 
bas-relief  in  which  the  sculptor's  fancy  has     the  pl^diEe 
pourtrayed  the  maidens  clustering  round  the     Faustinianae 
noble  dame,  and  pouring  corn  into  the  folds    his  son 
of  the  garment  which  one  of  them  is  holding    Commodus. 
for  the  purpose.     The  medals  also  of  the  year  record  the 
liberal  largess  given   to  the  populace  of  Rome  at  the 
festivities  which  followed  the  marriage  of  the  youthful 
Commodus,  on  which  occasion  the  bonds  which  the  state 
held  against  its  debtors  were  thrown  into  the  fire  in  the 
forum,  while  similar  munificence  was  shown  in  helping 
the  ruined  Smyrna  to  rise  once  more  in  its  old  stately 
beauty  after  the  havoc  caused  by  a  great  earthquake. 

Meantime  the  thunder-clouds  were  gathering  on  the 
northern  frontier,  and  the  military  chiefs  were  anxious 
to  have  the  Emperor  again  upon  the  scene. 
Once  more  he  started  for  the  seat  of  war,     soon  fo 
after  observing  with  a   scrupulous  care  the    start  again 
ceremonial  customs  of  old  time.     The  spear-    northern 
head  taken  from   the   shrine   of    Mars   was     ^'^"' 
dipped  in  blood  and  hurled  by  the  prince's  hand  in  the 
direction  of  the  hostile  borders,  within  which  in  the  earlier 
days   of  the   Republic  the  lance  itself  was  flung  as  a 
symbol  of  the  war  thereby  declared.     Once  more  victory 
crowned  the  efforts  of  the  Roman  leaders,  and  the  title 
of  Imperator  was  taken  for  the  tenth  time  by  the  prince. 
The  war  itself  seemed  well-nigh  over,  but  M.  Aurelius  was 
not  permitted  to  survive  it. 

While  in  Pannonia,  either  at  Vienna  or  at  Sirmium, 
he  was  struck  down  by  disease,  probably  by  the  plague, 


1  lo  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

whose  ravages  may  still  be  traced  along  those  countries 
by  the  evidence  of  old  inscriptions.  Dion  Cassius,  as 
and  was  usual,  takes  up  the  vilest  story  he  can  find, 

struck  and  charges  Commodus  with  parricide,  in  the 

jjwnon  IS  ^^^^  ^^  poison  given  by  a  doctor's  hand. 
A.D.  i8o.  Other  writers  tell  us  only  that  the  dying 
Emperor's  son  showed  little  feeling,  save  the  selfish  wish 
to  escape  from  the  danger  of  contagion  by  a  speedy  flight. 
When  the  friends  who  were  gathered  round  his  deathbed 
asked  whom  he  wished  to  be  the  guardians  of  his  young 
successor,  he  answered  only '  Yourselves,  if  he  be  worthy ; ' 
then  drawing  his  Stoic  mantle  round  his  head,  he  died 
as  he  had  lived,  with  gentle  dignity.  His  health  had 
never  been  robust,  and  it  was  sorely  tried  by  the  hard- 
ships of  a  soldier's  life,  by  hurried  journeys  to  and  fro, 
and  the  rigour  of  those  winters  by  the  Danube.  His 
resolute  spirit  had  drawn  thus  far  on  its  reserves  of 
moral  force  to  keep  the  frail  body  to  its  work,  but  the 
keen  blade  wore  out  its  sheath  at  last. 

The  Romans  mourned  their  Emperor  as  they  had 
seldom  mourned  for  one  before,  yet  on  the  day  when  the 
funeral  procession  passed  along  the  streets 
grief  of  his  they  abstained  from  outward  show  of  grief, 
subjects.  convinced  as  they  were,  says  his  biographer, 
that  heaven  had  only  lent  him  for  a  time,  and  taken  him 
soon  back  again  to  his  own  place  among  the  immortal 
Jul.  Capito-  gods.  '  You  also,'  adds  the  writer,  addressing 
lini,  c.  19-  Diocletian  his  prince,  *  regard  M.  Aurelius  as 
a  god,  and  make  him  the  object  of  a  special  worship, 
praying  oftentimes  that  you  may  copy  the  virtues  of  a 
ruler  whom  Plato  himself,  with  all  his  lessons  of  philo- 
sophy, could  not  excel.' 

In  honour  of  the  victories  which  his  arms  had  won 
over  the  formidable  warriors  of  those  border 

The  monu-        ,        ,  -it-. 

ments  in  his  lands,  great  monuments  were  raised  at  Rome, 
hcnour.  Q^g  q£  these,  an  arch  of  triumph,  stood  for 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antonitms,  iii 

nearly  fifteen  centuries  till  a  Pope  (Alexander  VII.), 
ordered  it  to  be  thrown  down,  because  it  was  thought  to 
block  the  way  through  which  in  days  of  carnival  the  crowds 
of  masked  revellers  used  to  pass.  *  The  arch,'  says  a 
modern  writer,  *  had  happily  escaped  the  barbarians,  the 
mediaeval  times,  the  Renaissance ;  but  a  Pope  was  found 
not  only  to  lay  bold  hands  upon  it,  but  to  have  the  naivet^ 
to  take  credit  to  himself  for  doing  so  in  an  inscription 
which  the  curious  still  may  read  upon  the  site.' 

A  second  monument  is  standing  still,  but  the  papal 
government  which  dealt  so  hardly  with  the  arch  of 
triumph,  tried  to  rob  the  Emperor  of  this  glory  also,  for 
the  title  carved  upon  his  column  by  the  order  of  a  second 
Pope  (Sixtus  V.)  ascribes  the  work  to  Antoninus  Pius.  Like 
Trajan's  column,  of  which  it  is  a  copy,  it  is  formed  of 
cylinders  of  marble  piled  upon  each  other,  round  which 
is  coiled  in  spiral  form  a  long  series  of  bas-reliefs  which 
illustrate  the  Marcomannic  war.  The  literary  records  of 
the  ten  years'  struggle  are  too  meagre  to  enable  us  to 
give  their  local  colour  to  the  scenes  pictorially  rendered  ; 
the  sculptured  figures  too  complacently  exhibit  the  un- 
varying success  of  Roman  armies  to  represent  with  fairness 
a  war  in  which  the  German  and  Sarmatian  tribes  tasked 
year  after  year  the  military  resources  of  the  Empire.  One 
set  of  images  there  is  which  frequently  recurs  in  varying 
forms,  and  we  may  trust  to  these  as  evidence  of  the 
constant  hindrance  to  the  forward  movement  of  the 
legions  in  the  wild  lands  beyond  the  Danube.  The 
broad  current  of  the  great  river  and  its  tributary  streams, 
the  uncleared  forest,  and  the  dangerous  morasses,  are 
often  shown  in  symbolic  guise  upon  the  column,  and  in 
these  Roman  vanity  was  ready  to  admit  the  obstacles  and 
perils  which  carried  with  them  no  dishonour  to  the  eagles. 

Trophies  of  war  were  little  suited  to  the  character  of 
such  a  ruler,  but  happily  we  have  a  worthier  monument 
in  the  '  Thoughts'  or  '  Meditations  '  which,  intended  for  no 


112  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines.  a.d. 

eye  but  his,  reflect  his  passing  sentiments  from  day  to  day. 
Written  here  and  there  in  the  moments  of  his  leisure, 
His'Medita-  sonietimes  on  the  eve  of  battle  in  the  gene- 
tions'are  a  ral's  tent,  sometimes  in  the  dreary  monotony 
momimenr  ^^  winter  quarters  and  by  the  morasses  of  the 
of^is  Danube,  they  have  little  nicety  of  style  or 

literary  finish,  they  contain  no  system  of  philo- 
sophy set  off  with  parade  of  dialectic  fence ;  but  there  is 
in  them  what  is  better  far,  the  truthful  utterance  of  an 
reflecting  earnest  soul,  which  would  lay  bare  its  inmost 
etrS'^el?  thoughts,  study  the  secrets  of  its  strength  and 
enquiry,  weakness,  and  be  by  turns  the  accused,  the 
witness,  advocate,  and  judge. 

Self-enquiry  such  as  this  had  been  of  old  the  favourite 
tenet  of  Pythagorean  schools,  it  had  been  pressed  by 
Socrates  upon  his  age  with  a  sort  of  missionary  fervour, 
it  had  since  passed  almost  as  a  commonplace  into  the 
current  systems  of  the  day,  and  become  a  recognised 
duty  with  the  earnest-minded,  just  as  the  practice  of  con- 
fession in  the  Church  of  Rome.  With  M.  Aurelius  it 
was  a  lifelong  habit,  and  covered  the  whole  range  of 
Medit.  V.  thought  and  action.  *  How  hast  thou  behaved 
3^'  thus  far,'  he  asks  himself,  '  to  the  gods,  thy 

parents,  brethren,  children,  teachers,  to  those  who  looked 
after  thy  infancy,  to  thy  friends,  kinsfolk,  to  thy  slaves  t 
Think  if  thou  hast  hitherto  behaved  to  all  in  such  a  way 
that  this  may  be  said  of  thee. 

Ne'er  has  he  wronged  a  man  in  word  or  deed. 

Call  to  recollection  how  many  things  thou  hast  passed 
through,  and  what  thou  hast  been  able  to  endure,  and 
that  the  history  of  thy  life  is  fully  told  and  thy  service 
drawing  to  its  close  ;  think  how  many  fair  things  thou 
hast  seen,  and  how  many  pleasures  and  pains  thou  hast 
despised  ;  how  much  that  the  world  holds  in  honour  thou 


1 47- 1  So.       Marcus  A  urelms  A  ntoninus.  113 

hast  spurned  ;  and  with  how  many  ill-minded  folks  thou 
hast  dealt  kindly.'  In  the  course  of  such  reflexions  he  recurs 
with  tender  gratitude  to  the  memory  of  those    ^^^  ^^^^^^ 
who  watched  over  his  early  years,  or  helped    gratitude  to 
to  form  his  character  or  enrich  his  thought ;  to     teachers, 
the  good  parents,  teachers,  kinsmen,  friends,     kinsmen^'^ 
for  the  blessings  of  whose  care  he  thanks  the     who  had 
gods  so  fervently,  while  he  dwells  fondly  on    fom\is° 
the  features  of  the  moral  character  of  each,     character. 
He  speaks  of  his  mother's  cheerful  piety  and  kindly 
temper,    of    the    instinctive    delicacy    with    which   she 
shunned  not  the  practice  merely  but  the  thought  of  evil, 
of  how  she  spent  with  him  the  last  years  of  her  short 
life,  guarding  the    virgin  modesty  of  his  young  mind, 
that  he  might  grow  up  with  the  purity  of  his  manhood 
unbefouled. 

The  twenty  years  of  unbroken  intercourse  with  his 
adoptive  father  had  not  faded  from  his  thoughts  when 
he  penned  in  all  sincerity  these  graceful  lines  :  Medit.  vi. 
'  Do  everything  as  a  pupil  of  Antoninus.  Re-  3o- 
member  his  constancy  in  every  act  which  was  con- 
formable to  reason,  his  evenness  in  all  things,  his  piety, 
the  serenity  of  his  countenance,  his  sweetness,  his  dis- 
regard of  empty  fame,  and  his  efforts  to  understand 
things  duly;  how  he  would  let  nothing  pass  without 
having  first  most  carefully  examined  it  and  clearly  under- 
stood it ;  how  he  bore  with  those  who  blamed  him  un- 
justly without  blaming  them  in  return  ;  how  he  did 
nothing  in  a  hurry ;  how  he  listened  not  to  calumnies, 
and  how  exact  an  examiner  of  manners  and  actions  he 
was  ;  not  given  to  reproach  people,  nor  timid,  nor  sus- 
picious, nor  a  sophist ;  how  he  bore  with  freedom  of 
speech  in  those  who  opposed  his  judgments  ;  the  pleasure 
that  he  had  when  any  man  showed  him  anything  better  ; 
and  how  religious  he  was  without  superstition.     Imitate 

A.H.  I 


i  14  Tke  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

all  this,  that  in  thy  last  hour  thou  mayest  have  as  good 
a  conscience  as  he  had.' 

He  speaks  too  in  later  years  with  thankfulness  of  his 
aged  guardian's  care,  which  would  not  trust  him  to  the 
risks  and  uncertainties  of  the  public  schools,  but  grudged 
no  outlay  on  his  education,  supplying  him  with  the  best 
teachers  of  the  day  at  home. 

As  he  passes  in  memory  over  the  long  list  of  these, 
he  does  not  care  to  dwell  upon  the  order  of  his  studies, 
or  how  much  he  learnt  from  each  of  them  of  the  stores  of 
art  and  learning,  but  he  tries  rather  to  remember  in  each 
case  what  was  or  might  have  been  the  moral  impress  on 
his  character  from  the  examples  of  their  lives. 

His  governor,  he  says,  gave  him  a  distaste  for  the 
passionate  excitement  of  the  circus  or  the  gladiators'  fights, 
Medit  I.  taught  him  to  *  endure  labour,  and  want  little  ; 
S"^7-  to  work   with   his   own   hands,   and   not   to 

meddle  with  the  affairs  of  others,  or  hsten  readily  to 
slander.'  Diognetus  turned  his  thoughts  from  the  trifles 
to  the  reahties  of  life,  introduced  him  to  philosophy, 
and  made  him  feel  the  value  of  ascetic  training,  of  the 
coarse  dress  and  the  hard  pallet  bed.  Fronto  meantime 
was  leading  him  to  note  *what  envy  and  duphcity  and 
hypocrisy  are  in  a  tyrant,  and  how  commonly  the  nobles 
of  the  day  were  wanting  in  parental  love.'  From  Severus 
he  learnt  to  admire  the  great  men  of  the  past — Thrasea, 
Helvidius,  Cato,  Brutus  ;  '  and  from  him  I  received  the 
idea  of  a  polity  in  which  there  is  the  same  law  for  all, 
a  polity  administered  with  regard  to  equal  rights  and 
freedom  of  speech,  and  the  idea  of  a  kingly  government 
which  respects  most  of  all  the  freedom  of  the  governed.' 
Rusticus,  who  did  him  the  good  service  of  introducing 
him  to  the  mind  of  Epictetus  as  expressed  in  the  memoirs 
of  his  pupils,  led  him  to  see  the  vanity  of  sophistic  emula- 
tion and  display.     In  the  example  of  Apollonius  he  saw 


£47  i8o.       Marcus  A iirelius  Antoninus.  115 

'  that  the  same  man  can  be  most  resolute  and  yielding ; ' 
he  had  before  his  eyes  a  teacher  who  regarded  his  skill 
and  experience  in  instruction  as  the  smallest  of  his  merits  ; 
and  from  him  he  learnt  *how  to  receive  from  friends 
what  are  thought  favours,  M'ithout  being  either  humbled 
by  them  or  letting  them  pass  unnoticed.'  In  Sextus  he 
saw  the  beauty  of  a  genial  courtesy,  and '  had  the  example 
of  a  family  governed  in  a  fatherly  manner,  and  of  living 
conformably  to  nature,  and  of  gravity  without  affectation. 
He  had  the  power  of  accommodating  himself  readily  to 
all,  so  that  intercourse  with  him  was  more  agreeable  than 
any  flattery ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  was  most  highly 
venerated  by  those  who  associated  with  him.' 

Alexander  the  grammarian  never  used  *to  chide 
those  who  uttered  any  barbarous  or  strange-sounding 
phrase  ;  but  dexterously  introduced  the  very  expression 
which  ought  to  have  been  used,  in  the  way  of  answer 
or  assent,  or  joining  in  enquiry  about  the  thing  itself, 
and  not  about  the  word.'  In  Maximus  he  saw  unvary- 
ing cheerfulness,  *  and  a  just  admixture  of  sweetness  and 
of  dignity  in  the  moral  character.  He  was  beneficent, 
ready  to  forgive,  free  from  falsehood,  and  presented  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  could  not  be  diverted  from 
the  right,  rather  than  of  one  who  had  been  improved.' 
Finally,  after  the  long  survey  of  all  the  influences 
of  earlier  days,  he  thanks  the  powers  of  heaven  for  all 
^  their  gifts  and  inspirations,'  which  tended  to  make 
the  path  of  duty  easy,  'though  I  still  fall  short  of  it 
through  my  own  fault,  and  from  not  observing  the 
admonitions,  or  I  may  almost  say,  the  direct  instructions 
of  the  gods.' 

Few  who  have  read  the  remaining  Meditations 
can  think  that  M.  Aurelius  is  here  numbering  com- 
placently his  own  good  qualities  of  heart  and  temper,  or 
throwing  a  decent  cloak  over  his  praises  of  himself. 


r  l6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  a.d. 

There  is  a  danger  doubtless  that  the  habit  of  constant 
There  is  no  introspcction  may  lead  to  vanity,  or  at  least  to 
^hy'^or  ^  morbid  persistency  of  self-centred  thought 
self-love  in  which  may  be  fatal  to  the  simple  naturalness 
Te'S-enc^t?  ^f  healthy  action.  But  in  this  case  at  least 
his  own  there  are  no  traces  of  such  influence.     The 

quahties, 

candour  of  his  early  youth  seems  reflected  in 
the  utterances  of  later  years.     He  has  a  lively  horror  of 

^  ^         deceit  and  affectation,  would  have  his  soul  be 

'  simple  and  single  and  naked,  more  manifest 

than  the  body  which  surrounds  it,'  so  that  the  character 

^.  may    be  written   on  the  forehead   as   ^true 

affection  reads  everything  in  the  eyes  of  those 
it  loves.' 

He  wonders  '  how  it  is  that  every  man  loves  himself 
more  than  all  the  rest  of  men,  but  yet  sets  less  value  on 

^..  his  own  opinion  of  himself  than  on  the  judg- 

ment of  the  world.  If  a  god  or  a  wise  teacher 
should  present  himself  to  a  man,  and  bid  him  think  of 
nothing  and  design  nothing  which  he  would  not  express  as 
soon  as  he  conceived  it,  he  could  not  bear  it  even  for  a 
single  day.  So  much  more  respect  have  we  to  what  our 
neighbours  shall  think  of  us  than  to  what  we  shall  think 
of  our  own  selves.' 

There  is  yet  another  danger,  which  is  very  real,  when 
earnest  thought  broods  intently  upon  moral  action,  and 
and  no  dissects  its  motives  and  its  aims.     It  often 

undue  self-      ends   in   seeing    mainly  what  is   mean   and 

contempt  -tr  ■>     •     ■,       •  ,/•        ,, 

or  pessu  semsh,  m  havmg  eyes  only  for  the  baser  side 

mism,  Qf  human   nature,   in  becoming  fretful    and 

suspicious,  or  in  feeding  an  intellectual  pride  by  stripping 
off  what  seem  the  mere  disguises  of  hypocrisy  and  fashion, 
and  pointing  to  the  cankerworm  of  selfishness  in  all  the 
flowers  and  fruits  of  social  life.  Do  we  find  anything 
in  these  Meditations  which  may  point  to  such  painfulness 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  117 

of  self-contempt,  or  to  any  impatient  scorn  of  the  pettiness 
and  vices  of  the  men  and  women  whom  he  knew  ? 

A  pure  and  noble  nature  such  as  his  could  not  but  be 
keenly  sensitive  to  evil,  and  he  does  not  shrink  from 
speaking  of  it  often.     *  Begin  the  morning  by 
saying  to  thyself,  I  shall  meet  with  the  busy- 
body, the  ungrateful,  arrogant,  deceitful,  envious,  unsocial,' 
but  he  goes  on  to  find  a  motive  for  patience 
and  forbearance.      He  was   often   sick    and    w^^fften*^ 
weary,  it  would  seem,  of  social  troubles  and  of    weary  of 

•    1  -i  ,  -K,,  1  ^  the  evil. 

uncongenial  work.      '  Men  seek  retreats  for 
themselves,    houses     in     the     country,    seashores     and 
mountains  ;  and  thou  too  art  wont  to  desire 
such  things  very  much.  ...  It  is  in  thy  power 
ivhenever  thou  shalt  choose  to  retire  into  thyself.     For 
nowhere  either  with  more  quiet  or  more  freedom  from 
troubles   does  a  man  retire    than    into   his   own   soul. 
Constantly   then   give   thyself   this   retreat,   and   renew 
thyself ;  and  let  thy  principles  be  brief  and  fundamental, 
which,  as   soon   as   thou   shalt   recur   to   them,  will  be 
sufficient  to  cleanse  the  soul  completely,  and  to  send 
thee  back  free  from  all   discontent  with  the  things  to 
which  thou  returnest.'     He  would  find  rest  and  comfort 
in  a  larger,  more  hopeful  view  of  things.     'There  are 
briers  in  the  road — turn  aside  from  them.    Do 
not  add.  And  why  were  such  things  made  in 
the  world  ?     For  thou  wilt  be  ridiculed  by  a  man  who  is 
acquainted  with  nature,  as  thou  wouldst  be  by  a  carpenter 
or  a  shoemaker  if  thou  didst  find  fault  be-     g^  ^^ 
cause  in  his  workshop  there  were  to  be  seen     tned  to  be 
shavings  and  cuttings  from  the  things  which    ^'^  '^" 


he  was   making.'      He   exhorts  himself  to   imitate  the 

patience  of  the  powers  of  heaven.     *  The  gods 

1  .  ,  1    ,  vu.  70. 

who   are   immortal    are   not    vexed  because 

during  so  long  a  time  they  must  tolerate  continually  men 


1 18  The  Age  of  tJu  Antonines.  a.d. 

such  as  they  are,  and  so  many  of  tliem  bad  ;  and  besides 
this>  they  also  take  care  of  them  in  all  ways.  But  thou, 
who  art  destined  to  end  so  soon,  art  thou  weary  of  en- 
during the  bad,  and  this  too  when  thou  art  one  of 
them  ? '  But  above  all  he  would  aim  at  cheerfulness  in 
the  thoughts  of  what  is  good  and  noble.  *  When  thou 
vi.  48.  wishest  to  delight  thyself,  think  of  the  virtues 
and  cheer-  of  those  who  live  with  thee  ;  for  instance,  the 
f"i-  activity  of  one,  and  the  modesty  of  another, 

and  the  liberality  of  a  third,  and  some  other  good 
quahty  of  a  fourth.  For  nothing  delights  so  much  as  the 
examples  of  the  virtues,  when  they  are  set  before  us  in 
the  morals  of  those  who  live  with  us.' 

But  M.  Aurelius  felt  the  cares  of  state  too  deeply 
to  indulge  himself  in  the  listless  contemplation  which 
He  would  might  unnerve  him  for  the  work  of  life.  He 
Wmseinn*  bids  himself  'not  to  be  a  man  of  many 
tempStion,"  words,  or  busy  about  many  things,'  but  to 
but  re-  act  like   'a  Roman  and  a  ruler,  who  has 

hard  work  taken  his  post  like  a  man  waiting  for  the  signal 
of  life.  which  summons  him  from  life.'     Or  again  : 

"^  ^'        *  In  the  morning  when  thou  risest  unwillingly, 
^-  *•         let  this  thought  be  present.     I  am  rising  to 
a   man's  work.      Why  then  am  I  dissatisfied  if  I    am 
going    to  do    the    things   for    which    I   exist,   and    for 
which  I  was  brought  into  the  world  ?    Or  have  I  been 
made  for  this,  to  lie  in  the  bedclothes  and  keep  my- 
self warm  "i    Those  who  love  their  several  arts  exhaust 
themselves  in  working  at  them  unwashed  and  without 
food.     But  are  the  acts  which  concern  society  more  vile 
in  thy  eyes  and  less  worthy  of  thy  labour?'    Again  : 
*  Reverence  the  gods  and  help  men.     Take 
care  that  thou  art  not  made  into  a  Caesar. 
And  to  throw  light  upon  his  meaning,  we  may  read  the 
Strong  words  which  are  poured  out  so  abruptly  :  *  A  blacl? 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus.  119 

character  ;  a  womanish  character ;  a  stubborn  character  ; 
bestial,  childish,  animal,  stupid,  counterfeit, 
scurrilous,  fraudulent,  tyrannical ! ' 

In  the  fulness  of  time  philosophy  was  seated  in  his 
person  on  the  throne,  but  he  was  too  wise  to  entertain 
heroic  aims  and  hopes  of  moulding  human        j^^ 
nature  like  the  potter's  clay.     *  How  worthless 
are  all  these  poor  people  who  are  engaged  in    too  am-°° 
politics,  and,  as  they  think,  are  playing  the    J^qq  hope°'^ 
philosopher !  ...  Do  not  expect  Plato's  Re-    f«i  i"  his 
public,  but  be  content  if  the  least  thing  goes    ^^°^^' 
well,  and  consider  s\ich  an  event  to  be  no  small  matter. 
For  who  can  change   men's   opinions ;   and  without  a 
change  of  opinion  what  else  is  there  than  the  slavery  of 
men  who  groan  while  they  are  pretending  to  obey  ?     Draw 
me  not  aside  to  insolence  and  pride.     Simple  and  modest 
is  the  work  of  philosophy.'     How  modest  was  its  aim, 
how  far  from  all  Utopian  fancies  of  the  use  of  force,  we 
may  gather  from  another  passage  :  *  What  will 
the  most  violent  man  do  to  thee  if  thou  art  still 
kindly  towards  him,  and  if,  as  opportunity  occurs,  thou 
gently  admonishest  him  and  calmly  correctest  his  errors 
at  the  very  time  when  he  is  trying  to  do  thee  harm, 
saying.  Not  so,  my  child ;  we  are  made  by  Nature  for 
something  else  :    I  shall   certainly  not  be  harmed,  but 
thou  art  injuring  thyself?     Show  him  by  gentle  tact  and 
by  general  principles  that  this  is  so,  and  that  even  bees 
do  not  as   he  does,  nor  any  animals  of  social   nature. 
This  thou  must  do  affectionately  and  without  any  rancour 
in  thy  soul;  and  not  as  if  thou  wert  lecturing  him,  nor 
yet  that  any  bystander  may  admire.' 

*  The  kingdom  of  heaven  cometh  not  with  observa- 
tion.' Not  by  the  strong  hand  of  the  master  of  thirty 
legions,  nor  by  the  voice  of  the  imperial  lawgiver,  but 
|>y  the  softer  influence  of  loving  hearts  like  his,  was 


1 20  The  Age  of  the  Antomnes,  a.d. 

the  spirit  of  a  nobler  manhood  to  be  spread  on  earth, 
but  full  of  For  when  he  speaks,  as  he  often  does,  of 
*harU  charity,  his  words  are  not  the  old  common- 

and  antici-  places  of  the  schools,  but  tender  phrases  full 
STstfan  of  delicate  refinement  and  enthusiastic  ardour, 
feeling,  gych  as  no  work  of  heathendom  can  vie  with, 

such  as  need  but  little  change  of  words  to  bring  before 
us  the  most  characteristic  graces  of  the  Gospel  standard. 
*  Think  of  thyself  not  as  a  part  merely  of  the 
^^'  ^^'  world,  but  as  a  member  of  the  human  body, 
else  thou  dost  not  yet  love  men  from  thy  heart ;  to  do 
good  does  not  delight  thee  for  its  own  sake  ;  thou  doest 
it  still  barely  as  a  thing  of  propriety,  and  not  yet  as  doing 
good  to  thine  own  self.'  What  is  this  but  the  well-known 
thought, '  If  one  member  suffer,  all  the  members  suffer 
with  it?' 

'  As  a  dog  when  he  has  tracked  the  game,  as  a  bee 
when  he  has  made  the  honey,  so  a  man  when  he  has 
done  a  good  act  does  not  call  out  for  others  to 
come  and  see,  but  goes  on  to  another  act  as 
a  vine  goes  on  to  produce  again  the  grapes  in  season. 
Must  a  man  then  be  one  of  these,  who  in  a  manner  act 
thus  without  observing  it  ?  Yes.'  Here  we  seem  to  hear 
the  precept,  *  Let  not  thy  left  hand  know  what  thy  right 
hand  doeth.' 

Again,  on  the  duty  of  forgiveness  :  *  When  a  man  has 
done  thee  any  wrong,  immediately  consider  with  what 
opinion  about  good  or  evil  he  has  done  wrong. 
^^'  ^  ■         For  when  thou  hast  seen  this  thou  wilt  pity 
him,  and  wilt  neither  wonder  nor  be  angry.     It  is  thy 
duty  then  to  pardon  him.'    Translate  this  into  Christian 
language,  and  we  have  the  words,   *  Forgive  them,  for 
they  know  not  what  they  do.'  Or  again  :  '  Sup- 
pose that  men    kill    thee,   curse  thee.  .  .  . 
if  a  man  should  stand  by  a  pure  spring  and  curse  it,  the 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  12 1 

spring  never  ceases  sending  up  wholesome  water ;  and 
if  he  should  cast  clay  into  it  or  filth,  it  will  speedily 
disperse  them,  and  wash  them  out,  and  will  not  be  at  all 
polluted.'  Surely  this  is  a  variation  on  the  theme,  *  Bless 
them  that  curse  you  and  despitefully  use  you.' 

It  was  the  ardour  of  this  charity  which  kept  from 
extravagance  or  bitterness  his  sense  of  the  pettiness  of 
all  the  transitory  interests  of  earth.     For  he    ^ut  re- 
often  has  his  mystic  moods  in  which  he  feels    frained  from 
that   he   is    only  a   stranger  and   a  pilgrim    gance  or 
journeying  awhile  amid  vain  and  unsubstantial    fn""hjf 
shows.      'Consider  the  times   of  Vespasian,     sense  of  the 
Thou  wilt  see  all  these  things  :  people  marry-    e^Wy  ^  ° 
ing,  bringing  up  children,  sick,  dying,  warring,    6°°^  • 
feasting,  trafficking,  flattering,  suspecting,  plotting,  .... 
heaping  up    treasure,    grumbling  about  the 
present.     Well  then,  the  life  of  these  people        *^"  ^^' 
is   no   more.     Pass  on   again  to   the  times  of  Trajan. 
Again  all  is  the  same.    Their  life  too  is  gone.     So  view 
also  the  other  epochs  c  f  time  and  of  whole  nations,  and 
see  how  many  after  great  efforts  fell,  and  were  resolved 

into  the  elements For  all  things  soon  pass  away 

and  become  a  mere  tale,  and  complete  oblivion  soon 

buries  them What  then  is  that  about  which  we 

ought  to  employ  our  serious  pains  ?  This  one  thing ; 
just  thoughts  and  social  acts,  and  words  which  never  He, 
and  a  temper  which  accepts  gladly  all  that  happens.' 

Or  as  he  writes  elsewhere,  in  a  still  sadder  vein,  but 
with  the  same  moral  as  before  :  '  Soon,  very  soon,  thou 
wilt  be  ashes,  or  a  skeleton,  and  either  a  name 

V.  33, 

or  not  even  that ;  .  .  .  the  things  which  are 
much  prized  in  life  are  empty  and  rotten,  and  triflmg, 
and  like  little  dogs  biting  one  another,  and  little  children 
quarrelling,  laughing,  and  then  straightway  weeping.    But 
fidelity  and  modesty  and  justice  and  truth  are  fled 


[22  The  Age  of  the  Antonines,  a.d. 

Up  to  Olympus  from  the  wide-spread  earth. 

What  then  is  there  which  still  detains  thee  here  ? 

To  have  good  repute  amidst  such  a  world  as  this  is  an 
empty  thing.  Why  then  dost  thou  not  wait  in  tranquillity 
for  thy  end,  whether  it  be  extinction  or  removal  to 
another  state?  And  until  that  time  comes,  what  is 
sufficient  "i  Why,  what  else  than  to  venerate  the  gods 
and  bless  them,  and  to  do  good  to  men,  and  to  practise 
tolerance  and  self-restraint.'  He  wearies  of  his  books,  ol 
the  life  of  courts,  of  dreams  of  glory  and  the  conqueror's 
ambition,  of  the  blindness  and  waywardness  of  men. 
'  For  this  is  the  only  thing,  if  there  be  any, 
which  could  draw  us  the  contrary  way,  and 
attach  us  to  life,  to  be  permitted  to  live  with  those  who 
have  the  same  principles  as  ourselves.  But  now  thou 
seest  how  great  is  the  trouble  arising  from  the  dis- 
cordance of  those  who  live  together,  so  that  thou  mayst 
say,  Come  quick,  O  death,  lest  perchance  I  too  should 
forget  myself.' 

*  Vanity  of  vanities !  all  here  is  vanity,'  he  seems 
to  say,  '  save  reverence  and  charity  and  self-restraint ; '  but 
dinging  ^^"®  ^°  ^^^  Stoic  Creed,  he  still  clings  firmly  to 

also  to  the  the  thought  that  there  is  a  Ruling  Providence 
RuUng  °  *  and  Perfect  Wisdom,  which  is  guiding  all 
Providence,  things  for  the  best,  although  its  judgments 
may  be  tmsearchable  and  its  ways  past  finding  out. 

It  is  the  peculiar  feature  of  his  character  that  this 
religious  optimism  has  the  power  not  only  to  content 
which  ^^^  reason,  but  to  stir  his  heart,  and  fill  it 

stirred  his  at  times  to  Overflowing  with  a  gush  of  ten- 
te^nderness  demess  and  love.  '  Everything  harmonises 
and  love  ^j^j-^  j^g  which  is  harmonious  to  thee,  O 
Universe.  Nothing  is  too  early  nor  too  late  for  me 
which  is  in  due  time  for  thee.  Everything  is 
'  '  *^'  fruit  to  me  which  thy  seasons  bring,  O  Na- 


147-1^0-       Marcus  Aurelitis  Antoninus.  123 

ture ;  from  thee  are  all  things  ;  in  thee  are  all  things  ;  to 
thee  all  things  return.  The  poet  says,  Dear  city  of 
Cecrops  ;  and  wilt  thou  not  say,  Dear  city  of  Zeus  ? ' 
Or  again  :  '  What  is  it  to  me  to  live  in  a 
universe  devoid  of  gods  ?  .  .  .  But  in  truth  they 
do  exist,  and  they  do  care  for  human  things,  and  they 
have  put  all  the  means  in  man's  power  to  enable  him  not 
to  fall  into  real  evils.' 

It  moves  his  heart  with  gratitude  to  think  that  the 
sinner  has  a  place  given  him  for  repentance,  and  may 
come  back  from  his  moral  isolation.  *  Suppose  that  thou 
hast  detached  thyself  from  the  natural  unity, 
yet  here  there  is  this  beautiful  provision, 
that  it  is  in  thy  power  again  to  unite  thyself.  God  has 
allowed  this  to  no  other  part,  after  it  has  been  cut 
asunder,  to  come  together  again.  But  consider  the 
kindness  by  which  He  has  distinguished  man,  for  He  has 
put  it  in  his  power  not  to  be  parted  at  all  from  the 
universal,  and  when  he  has  been  parted,  He  has  allowed 
him  to  return  and  to  resume  his  place.' 

This   reverent  tenderness    of   feeling    and    delicate 
sympathy  with  Nature  made  him  find  a  certain  loveliness 
in  things  which  had  no  beauty  to  the  ancient    and  deli- 
world.     '  Even  the  things  which  follow  after    pfthf^ih 
those  of  natural  growth   contain   something    Nature, 

pleasing  and  attractive Figs  when  they        i"-  2- 

are  quite  ripe  gape  open ;  and  in  the  ripe  olives  the 
very  circumstance  of  their  being  near  to  rottenness 
adds  a  peculiar  beauty  to  the  fruit.  The  ears  of  corn 
bending  down,  and  the  lion's  eyebrows,  and  the  foam 
which  flows  from  the  mouths  of  wild  boars,  and  many 
other  things  .  .  .  consequent  upon  the  things  which 
are  formed  by  nature,  help  to  adorn  them,  and  they 
please  the  mind  ;  so  that  if  a  man  showed  a  feeling 
and  a  deeper  insight  .  .  .  there  is  hardly  one  of  those 


124  Tfte  Age  of  the  Antonines,  a.d. 

which  follow  by  way  of  natural  sequence  which  will  not 
seem  to  him  to  be  in  a  manner  so  disposed  as  to  give 
pleasure.'  There  was  something  here  beyond  what  he 
had  learned  from  his  old  Stoic  masters.  They  had 
taught  him  that  the  world  was  ruled  by  an  Intellect 
Supreme,  with  which  it  was  man's  privilege,  as  it  was  his 
duty,  to  be  in  constant  unison ;  but  their  phrases  were 
cold  and  hard  and  unimpassioned  till  they  were  trans- 
figured by  his  moods  of  tender  fancy.  They  had  shown 
their  followers  how  to  meet  the  ills  of  life  with  dignity 
and  calm,  and  to  face  death  with  stem  composure,  if  not 
with  a  parade  of  tragic  pride,  as  if  philosophy  had  robbed 
their  last  enemy  of  his  fatal  sting.  But  it  is  a  gentler, 
humbler  voice  that  cries,  '  Pass  through  this 

IV.  48.  ,.      ,  .      .  r  ,   , 

little  space  of  tune  conformably  to  nature, 
ind  end  thy  journey  in  content,  just  as  an  olive  falls  off 
when  it  is  ripe,  blessing  Nature  who  produced  it,  and 
thanking  the  tree  on  which  it  grew ' 

Yet  withal  we  are  haunted  by  a  certain  melan- 
choly which  runs  through  all  these  Meditations,  and  as 
which  does  ^®  rt,2A  his  earnest  words  we  feel  a  ring 
not  however  of  sadness  sounding  in  our  ears.  For  he  had 
certain*^  hopcs  and  aspirations  for  which  the  Stoic 
melancholy  cj-ged  could  find  no  place  ;  and  he  sorely 
felt  the  problems  which  his  reason  could  not  solve. 
*  How  can  it  be  that  the  gods,  after  having  arranged 
all  things  well  and  benevolently  for  mankind,  have  over- 
looked this  alone,  that  some  men,  and  very 
good  men,  and  men  who,  as  we  may  say,  have 
had  most  communion  with  the  Deity,  and  through  pious 
acts  and  religious  observances  have  been  most  intimate 
with  the  Deity,  when  they  have  once  died  should  never 
Uve  again,  but  should  be  quite  extinguished  ? '  He  would 
fain  hush  to  rest  such  yearning  doubts,  but  the  heart 
probably  remained  unconvinced  by  the  poor  logic  which 


i47-i8o.       Marcus  Aurelius  Antonimcs.  125 

his  reason  had  to  offer.     '  But  if  this  is  so,  be  assured  that 
if  it  ought  to  have  been  otherwise,  the  gods  would  have 

done  it But  because  it  is  not  so,  if  in  fact  it  is  not 

so,  be  thou  convinced  that  it  ought  not  to  have  been  so.' 
At   times   too   there   is   something  very  sad   in  the 
confessions    of    his     lonely    isolation,    for    the    air    is 
keen   and   chilling  on  the  heights  to  which    and  sense 
he  towered  by  character  as  well  as  station,     of  isolation 

'  Live  as  on  a  mountain Let  men  see,  let  them 

know  a   real    man    who  lives  according  to 
Nature.     If  they  cannot  endure  him,  let  them 
kill  him.     For  that  is  better  than  to  live  thus.'     Or  again  . 
*  Thou  wilt  consider  this  then  when  thou  art 

X.  36. 

dying,  and  thou  wilt  depart  more  contentedly 
by  reflecting  thus.  I  am  going  away  from  such  a  life,  in 
which  even  my  associates,  in  behalf  of  whom  I  have 
striven,  prayed,  and  cared  so  much,  themselves  wish  me 
to  depart,  hoping  perchance  to  get  some  little  advantage 
by  it.  Why  then  should  a  man  cling  to  a  longer  stay 
here .? ' 

From  the  imperfect  sympathy  of  fellow-men  he 
turned,  as  by  natural  instinct,  to  communion  with  the 
Eternal  and  Divine.  But  here  again  he  found  a  sorry 
comfort  in  the  system  of  his  choice.  The  Universal 
Mind,  the  Abstract  Godhead,  or  the  Soul  Theaus- 
diffused  through  all  creation  and  revealed  by  verity  of  the 
Nature's  myriad  voices — these  were  cold  and  could "^[01*" 
neutral  phrases  which  might  indeed  convince  content  him. 
his  reason,  but  could  not  animate  or  stir  his  heart.  He 
could  not  therefore  rest  content  to  use  them  always  in 
their  austere  nakedness,  but  must  invest  the  cold  abstrac- 
tions with  the  form  and  colour  of  a  personifying  fancy, 
bringing  thus  before  us  on  his  pages  the  postulates  of 
emotion  rather  than  of  logic.  But  meantime  the  poor 
artisans  and  freedmen  of  the  Christian  churches  were 


1 26  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines.  a.d. 

praying  to  their  Father  in  heaven  with  all  the  confidence 
The  con-  °^  trustful  childhood.  The  rabble  of  the 
trastofthe  streets  were  clamouring  for  their  lives,  and 
porarjr  quickening  the  loyal  zeal  of  many  a  Gallio  on 

Christians.  ^jjg  gg^^  Qf  judgment ;  but  they  found  comfort 
in  the  thought  of  One  who  called  them  friends  and 
brothers,  and  who  had  gone  before  them  on  the  road 
which  they  must  travel,  supported  by  the  unseen  help  of 
an  Eternal  Love.  They  laid  their  dead  within  the 
Catacombs,  tracing  on  the  rough-hewn  walls  the  symbol 
of  the  Cross  or  the  form  of  the  Good  Shepherd  ;  but  they 
felt  no  dark  misgivings  and  no  inexplicable  yearnings, 
and  so  were  happier  in  their  life  and  death  than  the 
philosophic  Emperor  of  the  proud  Roman  world,  who 
speaks  once  only  of  the  Christians,  and  then  notices 
them  as  facing  death  with  the  composure  of  mere  ob- 
stinate pride. 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  an  Emperor  so  good  was 
followed  by  a  successor  so  unworthy  ;  sadder  still  that  that 
successor  was  his  son.     Could  not  the  philo- 
was  un-  sophic  ruler,  Julian  asked,  rise  above  a  father's 

h?rsu"c-^^ '°  doting  fondness,  and  find  some  one  better  fitted 
cesser,  to  replace  him  than  a  selfish  stripling  who 

Commodus.  ^  ^  i.'  ir         /-       \.-      ^  ^ 

was  soon  to  prove  himself  a  frantic  tyrant 
with  a  gladiator's  tastes  ?  He  had  a  son-in-law  beside 
him,  Pompeianus,  a  soldier  and  a  statesman  of  ripe  age, 
or  failing  him  there  were  all  the  worthiest  of  Rome  to 
choose  from,  as  he  himself  had  been  singled  out  in  earlier 
years,  and  raised  by  adoption  to  the  empire.  He  had 
himself  served  for  many  years  of  tutelage,  under  the  eyes 
of  Antoninus,  to  fit  him  for  the  responsibilities  of  absolute 
power  ;  was  it  wise  to  hope  that  an  inexperienced  youth, 
cradled  in  the  purple,  and  exposed  to  the  mean  arts  and 
flattery  of  servile  spirits  while  his  father  was  far  away 
upon  the  Danube,  would  have  the  wisdom  or  the  self- 


147- 1 8o.       Marctis  Aurelius  Antoninus.  127 

control  to  provide  for  the  welfare  of  the  subject  millions  ? 
Roman  gossips  had  an  ugly  story  of  the  signs  of  cruelty 
which  had  shown  themselves  in  Commodus  already  ;  how 
in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  slave  who  had  failed  to  heat  his 
bath,  he  ordered  him  to  be  flung  into  the  furnace,  but  was 
tricked  by  the  smell  of  frying  sheepskin,  which,  thanks 
to  an  attendant's  happy  thought,  took  the  place  of  the 
poor  bath -man.  True  or  false,  the  tale  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  current  talk,  and  show  how  little  men 
dared  to  hope  that  the  father's  virtues  would  be  continued 
in  the  son. 

Was  M.  Aurelius  unfortunate  in  his  wife  as  well  as 
his  successor  '^.    We  must  think  him  so  indeed  if  we  believe 
the  common   story,  so   confidently  repeated 
since,  that  she  disgraced  him  by  the  profligate    in  his  wife 
amours  which  were  the  talk   of  the  whole     Faustina? 
town  and  the  mark  of  scurrilous  jests  upon  the  stage  ; 
that  she  intrigued  with  Cassius  and  urged  him  to  revolt  ; 
and  died  by  her  own  hand  at  last,  in  fear  of  imminent 
detection. 

Yet  we  have  grave  reasons  to  mistrust  this  picture  of 
Faustina's  character,  and  the  evidence  on  which  it  rests 
is  very  poor.  The  Emperor  himself,  in  a  striking  passage 
of  his  memoirs,  speaks  of  her  in  a  very  different     „ 

,__,         .       ,      ,         ,.  r  ^  1,        Reasons 

stram.     When  m  the  lonehness  of  the  general  s    for  doubting 
tent  beside  the  Danube,  there  rise  before  his     S  th^^'^ 
thoughts  the  memories  of  the  kinsmen,  friends,    common 
and  teachers  who  had  guided  him  by  their 
counsels   or  example,  when   he   thanks   the  powers  of 
heaven  for  all  their  goodness  to  him  in  the  past,  he  does 
not  fail  to  praise  them  for  the  blessing  of  a  wife     „  ,  , 

,  1      1.  ,-,.       .  1  •        1     »      Med.  I.  17. 

*  so  obedient,  so  affectionate,  and  so  simple.' 
The  touching  pictures   of  the  Emperor's  home  life  in 
Fronto's  letters  bring  her  to  our  fancy  as  the  tender  wife 
and  loving  mother.     Her  own  recorded  woi^ls,  written 


128  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines,  a.  d. 

in  hot  passion  at  the  news  of  the  revolt  of  Cassius,  are  full 
of  affection  towards  her  husband  and  cries  of  vengeance 
on  the  traitor,  and  data  recently  discovered  in  inscriptions 
in  the  Haurin  have  disposed  of  the  doubts  as  to  their 
genuineness  raised  long  ago  by  critics.  In  the  countless 
medals  struck  in  honour  of  her  by  the  Emperor  or  Senate 
she  appeared  sometimes  as  the  patroness  of  Female 
Modesty,  sometimes  as  the  power  of  Love  and  Beauty  ; 
and  flattery,  however  gross,  would  hardly  have  devised 
such  questionable  titles  to  provoke  the  flippant  wit  of 
Rome  had  such  grave  scandals  been  believed. 

We  cannot  doubt  indeed  that  some  years  later  there 
were  stories  much  to  her  discredit  floating  through  the 
streets  of  Rome.  One  writer  of  repute  now  lost  to  us 
is  expressly  charged  with  blackening  her  memory ; 
another  (Dion  Cassius)  raked  up  commonly  into  his 
pages  so  much  of  the  dirt  of  calumny  that  we  listen  to 
his  statements  on  the  subject  with  reserve.  The  feeble 
writers  of  the  Augustan  history  a  century  later  repeat 
the  stories,  but  avowedly  as  only  current  rumour,  which 
they  had  not  tested  for  themselves.  But  the  epitomists 
of  later  ages  drop  out  the  qualifying  phrases  altogether, 
and  speak  of  her  without  misgiving  or  reserve  as 
another  Messalina  on  the  throne,  and  later  history  has 
commonly  repeated  the  worthless  verdict  of  these  most 
uncritical  of  writers.  If  we  hesitate  to  think  that  such 
grave  charges  could  be  altogether  baseless,  we  may  note 
that  Faustina,  in  her  pride  of  birth  and  fashion,  had 
little  liking  for  the  sages  whom  her  husband  gathered 
round  him,  and  outraged  probably  the  scruples  of  these 
ascetic  Puritans  by  her  gay  defiance  of  their  tastes. 
But  their  displeasure  may  have  carried  a  moral  sanction 
with  it,  and  lived  on  in  literary  circles,  and  influenced 
the  tone  of  history  itself.  The  rabble  of  the  streets  grew 
now  and  then  impatient  of  the  serene  wisdom  of  their 


t.\7-i 80       Marcus  A urelius  A ntoniniis.  1 2 9 

ruler,  and  when  he  was  inattentive  at  the  games,  or  cried 
£0  lessen  the  excitement  of  the  gladiator's  bloody  sport, 
they  thought  it  a  good  jest  to  point  to  Faustina's  fashion- 
able pleasures,  and  to  hint  broadly  that  it  was  natural 
enough  that  she  should  look  for  sympathy  elsewhere  than 
to  so  august  a  philosopher  and  bookworm.  When  Com- 
mcdus  in  later  years  unbared  the  vileness  of  his  brutal 
nature,  men  might  perhaps  remember  all  this  gossip 
of  the  past,  and  say  that  he  could  be  no  true  son  of  the 
benign  ruler  whom  they  now  regretted,  thus  fondly  em- 
balming the  memory  of  the  prince  while  sacrificing  to  it 
the  honour  of  his  wife. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  ATTITUDE  OF  THE  IMPERIAL  GOVERNMENT 
TOWARDS  THE   CHRISTIANS. 

For  a  century  or  more  the  imperial  government    took 
little   notice  of  the  Christian  church  as  the  organized 
form  of  a  distinct  religion.     It  knew  it  chiefly     ^j^^  ctirts- 
as   a    Jewish   sect,    as    a  fitting    object    for    tianswere 

.    .  ,  °  •'      -      -  for  some 

suspicion  or  contempt,  but  not  commonly  for    time  re- 
active  persecution.     The  race  indeed   with     fsa'^je^fg^ 
which  they  classed  it  was  peculiarly  distasteful    sect,  and 
to  the  Roman  rulers,  as  fanatical  and  unruly,     undis- 
and  stirred  at  times  by  inexplicable  moods  of    *"'"^®^  • 
wild  excitement.     After  the  terrible  struggle   of  a  war 
almost  of  extermination  they  had  risen  in  fierce  revolt  in 
Palestine,  Cyprus,  and  Egypt ;  in  all  the  great  centres  of 
industry  and  trade  in  which  they  spread,  they  gained  a 
name  for  turbulence  and  strife  and  obstinate  self-assertion. 
Yet  for  themselves  at  least  their  national  worship  was 
respected,  for  the  policy  of  Rome  found  a  place  in  its 
pantheon  for  the  gods  of  all  the  countries  of  the  Empire, 
and  all  might  live  together  unmolested  side  by  side. 

A.  H.  K 


130  The  Age  of  the  Anto7iines.  ch.  vi 

But  when  they  tried  to  be  aggressive,  to  make 
proselytes  even  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  to  unsettle 
men's  traditional  beliefs,  the  civil  power  stepped  in  to 
check  and  to  chastise  the  disturbers  of  the  public  peace. 
It  was  thus  that  in  the  old  days  of  the  Republic  senate 
arid  consuls  oftentimes  took  measures  to  stay  the  pro- 
for  the  gress  of  the  eastern  creeds  when  they  claimed 

Roman  ^  right  of  Settlement  at  Rome  :  and  the  rulers 

government  °  ' 

tolerated  all  of  the  early  empire  acted  in  like  spirit  as 
were  not  ^^  defenders  of  the  national  faith  when  it 
aggressive,  ^^s  menaced  by  what  they  thought  the  in- 
tolerant bigotry  of  the  Jewish  zealots.  In  the  reign  of 
Tiberius,  for  example,  large  numbers  of  such  aliens, 
whose  uncouth  superstitions  seemed  to  spread  contagion 
round  them,  were  flung  into  the  island  of  Sardinia,  to 
live  or  die,  as  it  might  happen,  in  the  miasma  of  that 
pestilential  climate.  In  the  days  of  Claudius  again  we 
read  of  a  disturbance  among  the  Jewish  immigrants, 
which  grew  to  such  a  height  as  to  be  followed  by  a 
summary  edict  of  general  banishment  from  Rome.  The 
strange  words  of  Suetonius  in  which  he  speaks  of  the 
impulse  given  by  a  certain  Chrestus  to  the  tumult, 
*  impulsore  Chresto  tumultuantes,'  point  probably  to  the 
hot  disputes  and  variance  caused  among  the  synagogues 
by  the  ferment  of  the  new  Christian  teaching.  The 
disturbance  was  soon  quieted,  and  the  peremptory  order 
was  withdrawn,  or  followed  only  by  the  departure  of  the 
leading  spirits  ;  and  the  little  Christian  church  lived  for 
a  time  securely  screened  from  notice  and  attack  under  the 
shelter  of  the  legalized  religion  of  the  Jews,  with  which  it 
was  commonly  confused  in  the  fancy  alike  of  the  people 
and  of  their  rulers.  But  the  story  of  Pomponia  Graecina 
serves  to  show  that  these  exclusive  creeds  might  not 
with  impunity  overleap  the  barriers  of  race  and  social 
class.     A  noble  Roman  lady  was  accused  of  tampering 


cH.  vj         The  Empire  and  Christianity.  131 

with  new  forms  of  superstition,  and  tried,  according  to 
the  rule  of  ancient  days,  before  a  family  council  formed 
by  her  husband  and  her  nearest  kinsmen.  After  her 
acquittal  we  are  told  that  she  shunned  the  world  of 
fashion,  and  lived  for  years  a  sober  life  of  meditation. 
Ecclesiastical  historians  have  commonly  believed  that 
they  could  read  in  the  somewhat  scornful  language  cf 
the  heathen  writer  a  description  of  the  early  type  of 
Christian  devotion. 

The  story  of  the  cruelties  of  Nero  paints  in  far  more 
lurid  colours  the  growing  hatred  of  the  populace  and  the  con- 
stant dangers  of  the  infant  church,  which  now,     But  in  the 
for  the  first  time,  clearly  appears  to  view  in  the    ^j||J^ro°we 
pages  ofthe  classical  historians.    The  butchery     majr  trace 
and  the  tortures  were  indeed  a  mere  freak  of    dislike  to 
unscrupulous  ferocity  by  which  the  Emperor    [j^^^^s^^" 
thought  to  divert  men's  minds  from  the  great     such, 
fire  which  had  made  so  many  thousands  homeless,  or  at 
least  to  discharge  the  lowering  thunder-clouds  of  popular 
discontent  upon  the  heads  of  the  poor  Christian  artisans 
and  freedmen.      '■  They   suffered/   says  Tacitus,    '  those 
votaries  of  a  pernicious  superstition,  not  indeed  that  they 
were  guilty  of  the  fire,  but  for  their  hatred  of  the  human 
kind.'     We  may  well  ask  ourselves  the  causes  of   the 
horror  and  repugnance  here  and  elsewhere  expressed  so 
strongly,  and  which  served  as  a  convenient  excuse  for 
Nero's  wanton   cruelty,  guided  possibly  by  the   Jewish 
jealousy  of  his  wife   Poppsea.     How  could    the  gentle 
courtesies  of  the  new  morality  inspire  such  feelings  in  the 
society  which  watched  its  growth? 

The  Jewish  race  was  one  which  could  not  in  those 
days  mingle  peacefully  with  the  peoples  of  the     due  partly 
West.     In  Rome  and  Alexandria  and  others     jewull'^ 
of  the  great  ciHes  of  the  ancient  world  there     origin. 
wei'e  frequent  frays  and  tumults  in  the  populous  quarters 


132  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

where  they  flocked  ;  their  peculiar  habits  and  dogged 
self-assertion  stirred  the  antipathy  of  their  heathen 
neighbours,  who  had  no  eyes  for  their  industry  and 
thrift  and  the  nobler  aspects  of  their  moral  character. 
But  the  Jews  had  at  least  an  old  and  national  religion, 
which  might  be  borne  with  so  long  as  its  worshippers  kept 
peacefully  to  their  own  circles,  while  the  Christians,  though 
though  really,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  same   race  and 

fekecftheir  customs,  Seemed  to  draw  themselves  apart  in 
claims  to  still  more  obstinate  isolation,  to  hold  aloof  even 
tbn^which  from  their  countrymen,  and  exhaust  the  pa- 
reHgion'^^  tience  of  the  world  by  meaningless  disputes 
enjoyed.  about  the  nice  points  of  spiritual  dogmas. 
Then  let  them  do  so  at  their  cost.  If  they  disowned 
their  ancient  worship,  they  must  forfeit  the  legal  sanction 
which  had  screened  them  hitherto. 

Again,  in  the  personal  bearing  of  the  Christians  there 
was  much  which  unavoidably  outraged  the  social  senti- 
ments of  others,  for  they  could  not  easily  take 
reglrded"^^  part  in  the  business  or  pleasures  of  a  world  on 
soSat  and  which  the  Stamp  of  idolatry  was  set.  They 
morose  must   shun  the  pleasant  gatherings  of  their 

'  friends  or  neighbours,  if  they  did  not  wish  to 
compromise  their  principles  or  shock  the  feelings  of  the 
rest  by  their  treatment  of  the  venerable  forms  of  heathen- 
dom. In  the  family  observances  at  the  chief  epochs  of  a 
Roman's  life  they  could  not  be  present  to  show  their 
sympathy  in  joy  and  sorrow,  for  religious  usages  took  place 
at  each,  and  they  dared  not  touch  the  unclean  thing.  Ai 
the  recurring  seasons  of  festivity  they  seemed  unmoved 
amid  the  general  gladness,  for  they  could  not  worship  at 
the  altars,  or  join  in  the  ceremonial  processions,  or  hang 
their  garlands  on  the  statues  of  the  gods.  If  they  enlisted 
in  the  legions,  they  might  be  called  upon  to  adore  the 
Genius  of  the  Emperor,  or  in  case  of  their  refusal  be 


CH.  VI.       The  Empire  and  Christianity.  133 

charged  with  rank  disloyalty.  No  wonder  if  they  held 
themselves  aloof  from  public  life,  when  at  every  turn  they 
were  confronted  by  the  forms  of  a  ritual  which  was 
accursed  in  their  eyes.  When  their  fellow-citizens  kept 
holiday,  they  could  not  venture  to  the  theatre  without  a 
shock  to  their  sense  of  right  and  decency,  while  they 
turned  with  loathing  from  the  ghastly  horrors  of  the 
gladiatorial  combats.  They  saw  the  dangers  and  they 
felt  the  force  of  the  allurements  to  vice  by  which  they 
were  surrounded,  and  they  turned  away  almost  with 
despair  from  a  world  which  seemed  so  wholly  given  over 
to  the  power  of  sensuality  and  sin.  They  had  no  eyes 
for  the  beauty  of  an  art  which  was  enlisted  in  the  service 
of  idolatry,  nor  for  the  symbolic  value  of  the  ancient 
forms  which  were  one  day  to  be  hallowed  for  church  use. 
Appealing  to  a  higher  standard  than  the  will  of  Caesar 
or  the  laws  of  Rome,  they  could  not  accept  the  current 
estimates  of  men  and  manners,  but  looked  often  with  a 
grave  displeasure  at  what  seemed  innocent  to  other  eyes. 
Hence  men  came  to  think  of  them  as  stern  fanatics, 
shunning  the  pleasures  and  courtesies  of  social  life,  sec- 
tarians who  would  cut  themselves  adrift  from  all  the 
natural  ties  of  country  and  of  race. 

Nay  more,  they  were  branded  even  with  impiety,  be- 
cause they  took  no  part  in  any  recognised  forms  of  wor- 
ship, but  shrank  from  all  the  common  usages    ^^^  ^^^ 
of  national  religion.     Those  who  visited  their    cused  of 
homes  found  no  little  niche  or  shrine  to  hold    ""^^^  ^' 
the  figures  of  the  guardian  Lares  ;  the  oratory  which  per- 
haps took  its  place  was  empty  as  the  temple  at  Jerusalem 
which  had  moved  the  wonder  of  the  conqueror  Pompeius. 
From  the  first  they  had  refused  all  adoration  to  a  Caesar  ; 
still  more  emphatically  they  refused  it  after  the  cruelties 
of  a  Nero  had  coloured  with  their  stains   of  blood  the 
Apocalyptic  visions  of  Antichrist  and  future  judgment. 


134  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

In  addition  to  these  charges  there  were  others ;  wild 
delusions  of  distempered  fancy,  then,  as  in  other  ages, 
while  foul  greedily  caught  up  by  the  credulous  and 
stories  were     prejudiced  masses.      The  simple    lovefeasts 

told  and  f    /,  _  .  ,  r    ,         ,       n         ,  j 

credited  held    at    first  in  token  of  brotherhood  and 

about  them,  tj^ankful  memories  were  perverted  into  scenes 
of  foul  debauch  ;  and  the  stories  of  accursed  pledges, 
cemented  by  the  blood  of  slaughtered  infants — such  as 
were  told  of  old  of  Bacchanalian  orgies  or  of  the  con- 
spiracy of  Catiline — passed  once  more  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  finding  possibly  some  poor  excuse  in  Eucharistic 
language  misconstrued.  They  were  often  classed  with 
the  professors  of  magic  and  of  necromancy,  with  the 
charlatans  and  quacks  of  every  kind  who  haunted  the 
low  quarters  of  the  town  and  preyed  upon  the  ignorant 
fancy  of  the  vulgar.  Yet  among  these  the  Christians 
often  found  their  bitterest  rivals,  in  the  deceivers  who 
feared  to  be  unmasked,  or  to  see  the  profits  of  their  trade 
endangered.  When  once  the  suspicion  and  dislike  of  the 
populace  were  roused  against  them  as  impious  misan- 
thropes, the  wildest  stories  were  invented  and  believed  to 
justify  the  hatred  which  was  felt.  If  the  Nile  failed  to 
overflow  the  fields  in  time  of  drought ;  if  the  plague 
spread  its  havoc  through  the  towns  ;  if  harvest  failed  or 
earthquakes  left  their  track  of  ruins  ;  the  Christians  were 
the  guilty  wretches  by  whom  the  wrath  of  heaven 
was  caused.  In  Northern  Africa,  we  read,  it  was  in  later 
days  a  proverb,  *  If  there  is  no  rain,  fix  the  blame  upon 
the  Christians.' 

In  the  ignorant  antipathy  of  the  lower  orders  lay  the 
chief  danger  of  the  early  church,  and  it  was  on  this 
Nero  which  Nero  reckoned  when  he  made  it  the 

Sopula?  scapegoat  of  the  blind  fury  of  the  people.  But 
antipathy,  j^jg  Cruelty,  frightful  as  it  was,  was  personal 
only,  causing  no  change  of  legal  status,  an  exceptional 


;h.  vt. 


The  Empire  and  Christianity.  135 


moment  in  a  time  of  toleration.  The  Christian  religion 
was  not  yet  proscribed,  and  its  professors  had  little  cause 
to  fear  the  Roman  governors  or  judges,  save  when  the 
people  clamoured  loudly  for  their  blood.  The  reign  of 
Domitian,  indeed,  is  vaguely  spoken  of  as  one  of  persecu- 
tion; but  there  is  little  evidence  of  this  in  the  annals  of 
the  time,  though  here  and  there  noble  Romans,  like 
Clemens  and  Domitilla,may  have  suffered  for  lapsing  from 
the  creed  of  their  fathers. 

But  with  the  second  century  of  the  empire  darker 
times  set  in  in  earnest,  and  a  general  ban  was  put  at  last 
by  law  upon  the  Christian  church.  We  may 
find  in  Pliny's  letters  the  fullest  notice  of  the  Christianity 
change.  As  governor  of  Bithynia  he  wrote  to  m^eUkgal 
Trajan  from  his  province  to  tell  him  of  the  till  the  time 
new  reUgionists  who  were  brought  before  his 
seat  of  justice,  and  to  ask  for  instructions  how  to  deal  with 
them.  He  had  never  had  to  do  with  them  before,  he  said, 
nor  ever  sat  in  court  when  such  cases  were  brought  up. 
He  was  doubtful  whether  the  name  of  Christian  should 
be  criminal  in  itself,  or  if  it  would  be  right  to  look  only  to 
the  practice  impliedun  the  profession.  Information  had 
been  sent  to  him  by  unknown  hands,  and  many  had  been 
denounced  to  him  by  name.  On  enquiry  it  appeared 
that  while  some  denied  the  charge  entirely,  others 
admitted  that  they  had  been  drawn  aw./,  though  they 
had  ceased  to  be  Christians  long  ago.  When  sharply 
questioned  as  to  the  practice  and  belief  of  the  society  to 
which  they  had  belonged,  they  said  its  members  used  to 
meet  from  time  to  time  at  break  of  day,  and  sing  their 
hymns  of  praise  to  Christ,  and  bind  themselves  by  sacred 
pledges,  not  to  any  deed  of  darkness,  but  to  keep  them- 
selves unstained  by  fraud,  and  falsehood,  and  adultery. 
There  were  stated  gatherings  besides,  in  which  they 
joined  each  other  in  a  simple  meal,  till  all  such  forms  ol 


136  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  en.  vi. 

social  brotherhood  were  put  down  by  a  special  edict 
To  test  the  truth  of  such  confessions,  Pliny  had  two 
slave  girls  tortured,  but  nothing  further  was  avowed  by 
them  nor  by  the  rest  who  frankly  owned  that  they  were 
Christians,  and  would  not  recant  or  flinch  even  after 
repeated  threats. 

Their  unyielding  obstinacy  seemed  to  the  writer  of 
itself  to  call  for  punishment,  though  beyond  that  he  could 
only  find  the  traces  of  extravagant  delusion.  But  he 
shrank  from  acting  on  his  own  discretion  without  instruc- 
tions from  the  Emperor  himself,  so  grave  were  the  interests 
at  stake  owing  to  the  numbers  of  every  age  and  sex  and 
social  grade  whose  lives  and  fortunes  were  involved.  For 
the  contagion,  as  he  called  it,  had  been  spreading  fast 
through  towns  and  villages  and  lonely  hamlets ;  the 
ancient  temples  had  been  almost  deserted,  and  few  were 
found  to  buy  the  offerings  for  the  altars,  till  fear  of 
punishment  had  lately  quickened  into  life  the  forms  of 
wonted  reverence. 

Reasons  may  be  urged  indeed  for  doubting  the 
genuineness  of  this  letter,  at  least  in  the  form  in  which 
Trajan's  ^^  have  it  now ;  but  we  may  at  least  accept 
answer  to  the  reply  of  Trajan,  which  was  very  brief  and 
detennined  weighty.  He  would  give  no  encouragement 
the  law.  ^Q  official  eagemess  in  hunting  out  charges  of 

this  kind :  no  anonymous  evidence  should  be  accepted  ; 
any  Christians  should  meet  with  pardon  for  the  past  if  they 
would  adore  the  national  gods  ;  but  punishment  must  be 
enforced  on  all  who  stubbornly  refused.  This  rescript 
formally  decided  the  legal  status  of  the  new  religion 
and  the  proceedings  of  the  imperial  agents.  The 
Christian  church  could  now  no  longer  claim  the  protec- 
tion which  the  synagogue  enjoyed ;  the  forms  and 
pledges  of  its  union  were  illegal ;  any  who  would,  might 


OH.  VI.       The  Empire  and  Christianity.  137 

come  forward  to  inform  against  them,  and  governor  01 
judge  might  not  pardon  even  if  he  wished. 

Indeed,  even  to  enhghtened  rulers  such  as  Trajan, 
who  were  not  disposed  to  credit  the  gross  calumnies 
of  popular  fancy,  there  was  much  that  might  seem 
dangerous  in  the  mysterious  influence  of  the  new  re- 
ligion. Its  talk  of  equality  and  brotherhood  might 
sound  like  the  watchword  of  a  social  revolu-  The  reasons 
tion,  and  the  more  so  as  its  members  were    why  the 

.      -i     ■,  .    n     r-  t  •,•  -IT  rx,,  government 

recruited  chiefly  from  the  toiling  milhons.  The  might 
ties  of  sympathy  between  its  scattered  mem-  dfstmft^he 
bers  were  like  the  network  of  a  widespread  church. 
conspiracy,  whose  designs  might  be  political,  though 
masked  under  religious  names.  Its  meetings,  often  held 
at  night,  were  an  offence  against  the  legal  maxim  that  no 
new  clubs  must  be  formed  or  organized  without  the 
sanction  of  the  civil  power  ;  the  refusal  of  its  members 
to  comply  with  a  few  time-honoured  forms,  or  to  swear 
even  by  the  Emperor's  Genius,  seemed  like  the  disloyal 
wish  to  break  wholly  with  the  past  and  to  parade  a 
cynical  contempt  for  the  established  powers.  The 
obstinate  unwillingness  to  bow  even  to  the  will  of  Caesar, 
and  the  claim  to  be  guided  by  a  higher  law,  had  an 
unwelcome  sound  in  the  ears  of  absolute  power.  Some 
too  there  were,  no  doubt,  who  pushed  their  courageous 
protest  to  the  extreme  of  discourteous  defiance,  in  their 
sensitive  fear  of  dallying  with  the  forms  of  idol  worship, 
like  the  soldier  who  refused  to  appear  before  his  general 
with  the  laurel  garland  on  his  head,  and  whose  scruples 
called  out  a  treatise  of  TertuUian  in  their  defence ;  or 
who  else  vaunted  openly  their  indifference  to  death  in 
their  impatient  longing  for  the  martyr's  crown.  It  was 
probably  of  such  as  these  that  Marcus  Aurelius  was 
thinking  when  he  penned  his  single   reference   to  the 


138  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vi. 

Christians,  saying  that  the  soul  should  be  ready  at  any 
moment  to  be  parted  from  the  body,  not  from  mere 
obstinacy  as  with  them,  but  considerately  and  with  dignity ^ 
without  tragic  show. 

During  the  whole  period  before  us  there  was  little 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  central  power.  The 
justice  of  Trajan,  the  refined  curiosity  of  Hadrian,  the 
humanity  and  gentle  wisdom  of  the  Antonines,  seemed 
alike  insensible  to  the  goodness  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
Christian  morality,  and  alike  indisposed  to  sanction  the 
new  influence  which  was  spreading  through  the  heathen 
world.  Its  speedy  progress  might  well  seem  alarming  to 
the  defenders  of  the  established  order.  It  has  been 
thought  indeed  that  Pliny's  letter  must  have  been 
tampered  with  in  early  times,  since  the  numbers  of  the 
Christians  are  insisted  on  so  strongly  by  a  writer  who 
confesses  that  beforehand  he  knew  nothing  of  their  tenets. 
Yet  the  churchmen  of  that  age  proudly  point  to  the 
striking  signs  of  onward  movement.  *  There  is  no  spot 
upon  the  earth,'  says  Justin,  'even  among  barbarous 
peoples,  where  the  name  of  the  Crucified  Redeemer  is 
not  heard  in  prayer.'  Irenaeus  thinks  that  the  church  is 
spread  through  the  whole  universe,  and  Tertullian  in  the 
lively  phrases  of  his  rhetoric  urges,  *  We  are  but  of 
yesterday,  and  we  already  fill  your  empire,  your  cities, 
your  town  councils,  your  camps,  your  palace,  and  your 
forum ;  we  leave  you  only  your  temples  to  yourselves. 
Without  recourse  to  arms,  we  might  do  battle  with  you 
simply  by  the  protest  of  our  separation  ;  you  would  be 
frightened  at  your  isolation.'  And  the  oldest  of  the  Cata- 
combs of  Rome  has  seemed  to  competent  observers  to 
point  in  the  forms  of  its  symbolic  art  to  the  number  of 
the  churchmen  who,  even  in  that  early  age,  laid  their 
dead  within  those  obscure  labyrinths  of  stone. 

This  rapid  spread   of   the   young   churches^   exag- 


cH.  VI.       The  Empire  and  Christianity.  139 

gerated  as  it  probably  has  been,  was  a  real  element 
of  danger.  Not  that  the  Emperors  had  any  persecuting 
zeal,  or  any  wish  to  hunt  the  poor  victims  down.  But 
the  clamours  of  the  populace  grew  louder,  and  the  pro- 
vincial governors  were  often  called  on  to  enforce  the 
law  without  appeal  to  any  higher  courts.  Some  looked 
on  with  indifference  from  the  seat  of  justice  while  the 
crowd  of  ignoble  criminals  passed  before  them,  marvel- 
ling only  at  the  conscientious  scruples  which  declined 
to  sprinkle  a  few  grains  of  incense  on  the  altars.  Others 
were  glad  to  court  the  favour  of  the  people  over  whom 
they  ruled  by  the  sacrifice  of  a  few  stiff-necked  zealots, 
fearing  also  to  hear  the  cry,  *  If  thou  lettest  this  man  go, 
thou  art  not  Caesar's  friend.' 

So  we  have  the  striking  fact,  that  on  the  one  hand, 
after  Trajan's  rescript,the  lowering  clouds  seem    The  sue- 
to  be  ever  gathering  more  blackly,  and  the     p^J^^r^ 
explosions  of  popular  fury  grow  more  frequent ;     Incline  to 

,  T_  ,         r     /      1-  •  mercy,  but 

on  the  other,  each  of  the  Emperors  is  repre-  the  popular 
sented  in  church  history  as  doing  something  to  gro^g^more 
shield  the  Christians  from  attack  or  to  temper  intense. 
the  austerity  of  justice.  Thus  we  have  the  letter  sent  by 
Hadrian  to  the  governor  of  Asia  Minor,  in  which  he 
comments  strongly  on  the  disorderly  attacks  upon  the 
Christians,  such  as  might  encourage  the  malice  and 
extortionate  claims  of  false  accusers.  Only  indictments 
in  strict  legal  form  should  be  accepted  ;  none  should  be 
arrested  on  vague  rumour,  and  none  convicted,  save  of 
acting  contrary  to  law.  This  would  amount  to  virtual 
toleration,  unless  taken  in  connexion  with  the  rule  pre- 
scribed by  Trajan  which  made  it  penal  to  refuse  to 
adore  the  gods  of  Rome.  But  even  as  thus  qualified,  it 
would  be  a  boon  to  the  oppressed,  as  it  might  tend  to 
check  the  greed  of  the  informers,  and  strengthen  the 
hands  of  an  impartial  judge. 


140  The  Age  of  the  Antoiiines.  ch.  vi. 

But  the  letter  itself  is  not  beyond  suspicion,  though 
The  f^^i"  more  credible   than  one  which  purports 

Sldm^  °^  ^°  ^^  written  by  one  or  other  of  the  Antonines 
andAnto-  to  a  general  assembly  of  the  deputies  of 
qu"  stion^  Asia.  The  message,  briefly  stated,  runs  some- 
able,  what  as  follows  :  '  I  hold  that  the  gods  may 
be  safely  left  to  vindicate  their  honour  on  the  heads  of 
those  who  spurn  them.  The  Christians  prefer  to  die 
rather  than  be  faithless  to  the  power  they  worship,  and 
they  triumph  in  the  contest,  for  they  are  true  to  their 
own  principles.  Their  neighbours  in  their  panic  fear  of 
natural  portents  and  disasters  neglect  to  pray  and  offer 
to  their  gods,  while  they  persecute  the  Christians  who 
alone  show  real  religion.  Provincial  governors  often 
wrote  to  my  sainted  father  on  this  subject,  and  were  told 
not  to  meddle  with  the  Christians  unless  they  were  guilty 
of  treason  to  the  state.  I  too  would  follow  the  same 
course  of  action,  and  have  informers  warned  that  they 
will  be  liable  to  penalties  themselves  if  they  bring 
vexatious  charges  of  the  sort.'  An  imperial  mandate 
couched  in  such  strong  terms  would  certainly  have 
screened  the  Christians  from  attack  and  have  marked 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  the  church,  and  as  such  have 
been  constantly  appealed  to  in  the  law  courts  as  also  in  the 
writings  of  Apologists.  But  it  is  probable  enough  that 
something  was  done  to  check  the  violence  of  popular 
feehng  or  the  malice  of  informers,  and  that  we  have  the 
traces  of  such  action,  coloured  in  after  days  by  grateful 
feeling,  or  overstated  from  the  fancy  that  princes  so 
large-hearted  and  humane  must  have  been  in  sympathy 
with  the  noblest  movements  of  their  times. 

Yet,  sad  to  say,  to  the  reign  of  the  philosophic  Emperor 
belongs  many  a  page  of  the  long  chronicle  of  martyrdom 
and  stories  are  given  us  at  length  of  the  sufferings  of  con- 
fessors whom  the  good  ruler  was  either  powerless  or 


cii.  VI.        The  Empire  and  Christianity.  141 

indifferent  to  save.  One  of  the  earliest  of  such  records 
may  be  found  in  a  letter  of  the  church  of  r^^^  ^^^^ 
Smyrna  which  describes  the  last  days  of  the  ^^^[^°™  °f 
venerable  Polycarp.  The  passion  of  the  EusebJHist. 
populace  had  broken  out  against  the  Christians,  ^^'^'  ^^-  ^  ^' 
and  after  witnessing  the  death  of  meaner  victims,  they 
began  to  clamour  'Away  with  the  Atheists! '  '  Let  Poly- 
carp be  sought.'  The  aged  bishop  wished  to  stay  in  the 
city  at  his  post  of  duty,  but  his  friends  urged  him  to 
withdraw  and  shun  the  storm.  He  was  tracked,  however, 
from  one  house  in  the  country  to  another,  till  at  length 
he  would  fly  no  further,  but  waited  in  his  hiding-place 
for  his  pursuers,  saying  only  *  God's  will  be  done.'  As 
they  returned  with  him  to  the  city  they  were  met  by  the 
chief  officer  of  the  police,  who  took  up  Polycarp  into  his 
carriage,  and  spoke  to  him  with  kindness,  asking  what 
harm  there  could  be  in  caUing  Caesar  lord,  and  in  offering 
sacrifice  to  save  his  life.  Polycarp  at  first  made  no 
reply,  but  at  last  said,  '  I  will  not  do  what  you  advise  me.' 
Threats  and  violence  were  of  no  avail  with  him,  and  he 
went  on  his  way  calmly  to  the  governor's  presence, 
though  a  deafening  din  was  made  by  the  assembled 
multitude.  The  proconsul  urged  him  to  swear  by  the 
Genius  of  Caesar,  and  to  say  '  Away  with  the  Atheists ! ' 
like  the  rest.  The  old  man  looked  gravely  at  the  crowd 
with  a  sigh  and  with  uplifted  eyes,  then  said,  pointing  to 
them  with  his  finger,  'Away  with  the  Atheists!'  The 
governor  urged  him  further.  '  Swear  ;  curse  Christ  and  I 
release  thee.'  '  Eighty  and  six  years,'  he  answered,  'have 
I  served  him,  and  he  has  never  done  me  harm,  and  how 
can  I  blaspheme  the  king  who  saved  me  ? '  When  still 
pressed,  he  said,  '  If  you  wish  to  know  what  I  am,  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  am  a  Christian ;  if  you  would  hear  an 
account  of  Christianity,  appoint  a  day  and  hear  me.* 
The  governor,  who   was  no  fanatic,   and  would  have 


142  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

gladly  saved  him,  asked  him  to  persuade  the  people,  but 
he  refused  to  defend  himself  before  them.  The  threats 
of  the  wild  beasts  and  of  the  stake  were  all  of  no  avail, 
and  at  last  it  was  proclaimed  ^  Polycarp  has  confessed 
himself  a  Christian.'  Then  all  the  multitude  of  Gentiles 
and  of  Jews  who  dwelt  at  Smyrna  yelled  out  in  furious 
clamour,  '  This  is  the  teacher  of  impiety,  the  father  of 
the  Christians,  the  enemy  of  our  gods,  who  teaches  so 
many  to  turn  away  from  worship  and  from  sacrifice.' 
And  they  cried  with  one  accord  that  Polycarp  must  be 
burned  alive.  We  need  not  dwell  longer  on  the  story  of 
his  martyrdom,  the  outline  of  which  seems  genuine 
enough,  though  there  are  features  of  it  which  were  added 
probably  by  the  fancy  of  a  later  age. 

A  few  years  afterwards  another  storm  of  persecution 
raged  in  Gaul,  at  Vienna  and  Lugdunum  (Lyons;,  the 
iTie  perse-  record  of  which  is  given  us  at  full  in  a  letter 
cution  at         from  the  suffering  churches  to  their  brethren  of 

Vienna  and        ,    .       «_.  _,,  .  <-    1  1  •    /• 

Lugdunum.  Asia  Mmor.  The  various  parts  of  the  chief 
Euseb.  V.  I.  actors  in  the  scene  are  stated  in  it  with  unusual 
clearness,  and  some  extracts  may  serve  to  illustrate  the 
temper  of  the  social  forces  of  the  time.  The  Christians  of 
the  neighbourhood  had  been  long  exposed  to  insult  and 
outrage  in  all  public  places  ;  but  at  length  the  excitement 
grew  to  such  a  height  that  a  furious  mob  began  to  pillage 
their  houses  and  to  drag  the  inmates  off  to  trial.  As 
they  openly  avowed  their  faith  before  the  magistrates 
and  people,  they  were  shut  up  in  prison  for  a  time  until 
the  arrival  of  the  Roman  governor.  As  soon  as  they 
were  brought  before  him  he  showed  a  spirit  of  ferocious 
enmity,  resorted  even  to  the  torture  to  wring  confession 
from  the  accused,  and  admitted,  contrary  to  legal  usage, 
the  evidence  of  heathen  slaves  against  their  masters,  till 
fear  and  malice  caused  them  to  be  accused  of 'Thyestean 
banquets  and  CEdipodean  incest.      No  age  nor  sex  was 


CH.  VI.        The  Empire  and  Christianity.  143 

spared  meantime.  Pothinus,  the  aged  bishop  of 
Lugdunum,  was  roughly  dragged  before  his  judge,  and 
asked  who  was  the  Christians'  God.  He  answered  only, 
'  If  thou  art  worthy,  thou  shalt  know.'  For  this  he  was 
set  upon  and  buffeted,  and  cast  into  a  dungeon,  where 
after  two  days  his  feeble  body  breathed  its  last.  Blandina, 
a  weak  woman,  was  racked  from  mom  till  night,  till  the 
baffled  gaolers  grew  weary  of  their  horrid  work,  and  were 
astonished  that  she  was  living  still.  But  she  recovered 
strength  in  the  midst  of  her  confession,  and  her  cry, '  I  am 
a  Christian,  and  there  is  no  evil  done  among  us,'  brought 
her  refreshment  in  all  the  sufferings  inflicted  on  her. 
As  some  of  the  accused  were  Roman  citizens,  proceedings 
were  delayed  till  appeal  could  be  directly  made  to 
Caesar,  and  his  will  about  the  prisoners  could  be  known. 
At  length  the  imperial  answer  came,  that  those  who 
recanted  should  be  set  free,  but  that  all  who  persisted 
in  their  creed  must  die.  Meantime  many  who  had 
denied  already,  but  were  still  kept  in  bonds,  were  en- 
couraged by  the  ardour  of  the  true  champions  of  the 
faith,  and  came  forward  to  the  governor's  judgment  seat 
to  make  a  good  confession,  and  to  be  sent  by  him,  such 
as  were  citizens  of  Rome,  to  be  beheaded,  and  all  the 
rest  to  the  wild  beasts.  Some,  indeed,  who  had  '  no 
marriage  garment '  gave  way  to  their  fears  ;  but  the  rest, 
*  like  noble  athletes,  endured  divers  contests,  and  gained 
great  victories,  and  received  the  crown  of  incorruption.' 
Last  of  all  Blandina  was  again  brought  in  along  with 
Ponticus,  a  boy  of  about  fifteen  years  of  age.  '  These 
two  had  been  taken  daily  to  the  amphitheatre  to  see  the 
tortures  which  the  rest  endured,  and  force  was  used  to 
make  them  swear  by  the  idols  of  the  heathen ;  but  as 
they  still  were  firm  and  constant,  th£  multitude  was 
furious  against  them,  and  neither  pitied  the  bo/s  tender 
years,  nor  respected  the  woman's  sex.     They  inflicted  on 


144  ^^^^  ^^^'  of  the  Antonines,  ch.  vi 

ihem  every  torture,  but  failed  to  make  them  invoke  their 
gods;  for  Ponticus,  encouraged  by  his  sister,  after  endunng 
nobly  every  kind  of  agony,  gave  up  the  ghost,  while  the 
blest  Blandina,  last  of  all,  after  having  like  a  noble 
mother  inspirited  her  children,  trod  the  same  path  of 
conflict  which  her  children  trod  before  her,  hastening  on 
to  them  with  joy  at  her  departure,  not  as  one  thrown 
to  the  wild  beasts,  but  as  one  invited  to  a  marriage  supper  ; 
. .  .  the  heathens  themselves  acknowledging  that  never 
among  them  did  woman  endure  so  many  and  so  fearful 
tortures.' 

We  cannot  read  without  emotion  the  story  of  these 
heroic  martyrs  ;  but  it  has,  besides,  this  special  interest 
for  us,  that  it  shows  the  persecution  taking  its  rise,  as 
usual,  in  the  blind  fury  of  the  people,  and  encouraged 
also  by  local  magistrates,  provincial  governors,  and 
either  by  Marcus  Aurelius  himself,  or  by  his  representa- 
tives at  Rome,  if  the  prince  was  too  busy  with  the 
Marcomannic  war.  Yet  for  none  of  these  can  the  ex- 
cuse of  ignorance  be  fairly  pleaded.  For  Christianity 
had  been  long  before  the  world  ;  there  was  no  mystery 
or  concealment  of  its  creed ;  its  most  distinctive  features 
were  confessed  in  the  pages  even  of  its  hostile  critics, 
and  for  some  years  past  Apologists  had  been  busy  in 
doing  battle  with  the  prejudices  of  the  people,  and  ap- 
peaUng  to  the  enlightened  judgment  of  the  Caesars. 

Thus  even  the  mocking  Lucian,  in  a  single  page  of 
his  satiric  medley,  reflects  the  noble  unworldliness  of  the 
Lucian's  young  church,  its  enthusiastic  hopes  of  a  hfe 
PereErbms  beyond  the  grave,  its  generous  spirit  of  sym- 
Proteus  pathy  and  brotherhood,  with  the  longing  to 

some  noble  havc  all  things  in  common,  which  made  it 
tbc^»ari°^  easily  the  dupe  of  sanctimonious  impostors, 
church.  He  describes  the  life  of  such  a  clever  rogue, 

under  the  name  of  Peregiinus  Proteus,  who  after  many 


«.H.  VI.        The  Empire  and  Christianity.  145 

a  fraudulent  device  professed  himself  a  convert,  and  soon 
rose  to  high  repute  among  the  Christians  by  his  plausible 
eloquence  and  seeming  zeal.  From  his  energy  he  was 
singled  out  for  persecution,  thus  winning  admiration  from 
the  brethren  as  a  confessor  and  a  saint.  While  he  was 
in  prison  they  spared  no  trouble  or  expense  to  gain  his 
freedom,  and,  failing  in  this,  they  were  careful  to  provide 
for  all  his  wants.  From  the  dawn  of  day,  old  women, 
widows,  and  orphans  might  be  seen  standing  at  the 
prison  doors  ;  the  chief  members  of  the  sect,  having 
bribed  the  keepers,  slept  near  him  in  the  dungeon.  They 
brought  him  all  kinds  of  good  cheer,  and  read  the  books 
of  Scripture  in  his  presence.  Even  from  cities  in  Asia 
Minor  came  deputies  from  Christian  societies  to  offer 
comfort  and  to  plead  his  cause.  .  .  .  '  For  nothing,'  says 
Lucian, '  can  exceed  their  eagerness  in  like  cases,  or  their 
readiness  to  give  away  all  they  have.  Poor  wretches  ! 
they  fancy  that  they  are  immortal,  and  so  they  make  light 
of  tortures,  and  give  themselves  up  willingly  to  death. 
Their  first  lawgiver  has  also  caused  them  to  believe  that 
all  of  them  are  brothers.  Renouncing,  therefore,  the  godj 
of  Greece,  and  adoring  the  Crucified  Sophist  whose  laws 
they  follow,  they  are  careless  of  the  goods  of  life  and 
have  them  all  in  common,  so  entire  is  their  faith  in  what 
he  told  them.' 

About  the  same  time,  probably,  Celsus  the  philoso- 
pher devoted  all  his  acuteness  and  his  wit  to  an  elaborate 
attack  upon  the  Christian  creed,  and  proved  The  attack 
that  he  had  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  of  Celsus, 
letter  of  its  doctrines,  though  he  had  not  the  earnestness 
of  heart  to  appreciate  its  spirit.  His  work  is  only  known 
to  us  in  the  reply  of  Origen,  but  in  the  course  of  the  ob 
j actions  urged  and  met,  we  have  brought  before  us  the 
chief  aspects  of  the  new  morality.  Thus,  when  he  makes 
the  Christians  say,  *  Let  no  educated  or  wise  man  draw 

A.  H.  L 


t4^  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vi, 

near,  but  whoever  is  ignorant,  whoever  is  like  a  child,  let 
him  come  and  be  comforted,'  he  only  states  in  taunting 
form  the  well-known  paradox  of  the  Gospel  teaching ;  but 
in  his  protest  at  such  ignorant  faith  he  does  not  stay  to 
ask  how  a  religion  which  disowned,  as  he  thought,  appeal 
to  reason,  could  give  birth  to  the  many  heresies  and  vary- 
ing sects  on  which  he  lays  elsewhere  such  stress  as  a  weak 
point  in  the  Christian  system.  Again,  though  only  as  a 
hostile  critic,  he  bears  witness  to  its  promises  of  peace  and 
grace  to  the  sinful  and  despairing  conscience.  *  They,'  he 
says, '  who  bid  us  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  other 
creeds  begin  by  proclaiming,  '  Let  him  draw  near  who  is 
unstained  and  pure,  who  is  conscious  of  no  guilt,  who  has 
lived  a  good  and  upright  Hfe.'  But  let  us  hear  the  invita- 
tion of  these  Christians.  '  Whoever  is  a  sinner,'  they  cry, 
'  whoever  is  foolish  or  unlettered,  in  a  word,  whoever  is 
wretched,  him  will  the  kingdom  of  God  receive.'  With 
this  we  may  connect  his  comment  on  the  subject  of  con- 
version :  '  It  is  clear  that  no  one  can  quite  change  a 
person  to  whom  sin  has  become  a  second  nature,  even 
by  punishment,  and  far  less  then  by  mercy  ;  for  to  bring 
about  an  entire  change  of  nature  is  the  hardest  of  all 
things.'  Celsus  knew  the  chief  points  of  the  story  of  the 
life  and  character  of  Christ,  but  was  unaffected  by  its 
moral  grandeur.  He  had  heard  of  humility  as  a  marked 
feature  of  the  Christian  spirit,  but  it  seemed  to  him  a 
morbid  growth,  a  perversion  of  the  philosopher's  ideal. 
He  was  familiar  with  the  teaching  of  God's  Providence, 
and  of  H  is  fatherly  care  for  every  soul  of  man  ;  but  he 
thought  it  all  a  vain  presumption,  and  the  talk  about  the 
dignity  of  human  nature  and  possibility  of  its  redemption 
sounded  but  as  idle  and  unmeaning  words  to  one  who 
was  content  with  the  idea  of  a  Great  Universe,  evolving 
through  unchanging  laws  an  endless  round  of  inevitable 
results. 


cH.  VI.       The  Empire  and  Christianity.  1 47 

In   the   next   century   Christianity  found   champions 
who  were  ready  to  meet  such  attack  on  its  own  ground, 
and  to  furbish  for  their  use  the  weapons  drawn     answered 
from   the    armoury  of   philosophic    schools,     jp'^^f. 
But  the  Apologists  of  that  age  had  other  work    Apologises 
to  do.     Accused  as  they  had  been  as  atheists,    ^; J^^  J|f|, 
misanthropes,  magicians,  and   sensualists  of    more  with 

Z  •  1    r       ^-L  practice 

the  worst  type,  the  pressmg  need  for  them  than  doc- 
was  to  rebut  such  wanton  slander,  and  to  ^"®- 
appeal  to  the  imperial  justice  from  the  calumnies  of  ig- 
norant malice.  They  were  not  like  divines  engaged  on 
treatises  of  theologic  lore ;  but,  writing  face  to  face  with 
the  thought  of  speedy  death,  they  turned  to  meet  the 
danger  of  the  moment,  and  dwelt  on  practice  as  well  as 
on  behef.  In  answer  to  the  coarse  falsehoods  which  were 
spread  about  their  secret  meetings,  they  described  at 
length  their  doings  in  their  Sunday  gatherings— how  they 
met  to  read  the  memoirs  of  the  Apostles  and  the  writings 
of  the  Prophets.  'Then,  when  the  reader  ceases,  the 
president  exhorts  to  copy  these  good  things,  jusiin, 
Then  we  rise  up  all  together  and  offer  prayers,  ^p°'-  '•  ^^^ 
and  when  we  cease  from  prayer,  bread  is  brought,  and 
wine,  and  water,  and  the  president  offers  prayers  in  like 
manner,  and  thanksgivings,  and  the  people  add  aloud 
"  Amen,"  and  the  sharing  of  those  things  for  which  thanks 
have  been  given  takes  place  to  everyone,  and  they  are 
sent  to  those  who  are  not  present.  Those  who  have 
means  and  goodwill  give  what  they  Hke,  and  the  sum 
collected  is  laid  up  with  the  president,  who  in  person 
helps  orphans  and  widows,  and  all  who  are  in  need,  and 
those  who  are  in  bonds,  and  those  who  have  come  from 
a  strange  land,  and,  in  one  word,  he  is  guardian  to  all 
who  are  in  need.' 

They  were  spoken  of  as  evil-doers,  and  possibly  so- 
called  Christians  might  have  been  such- -Gnostics,  or 

L  2 


148  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vi. 

heretics  of  questionable  creeds — but  if  so,  urged  the 
writers,  they  could  be  no  true  followers  of  Him  whose 
Their  line  of  recorded  words  they  quote,  and  whose  influ- 
argument.  g^ce  in  the  past  they  point  to  as  leading  the 
hearts  of  men  from  hatred  to  love,  from  vice  to  virtue. 
Unsocial  and  morose  they  were  not,  though  they  must 
needs  shun  the  forms  of  idol-worship  and  the  gross  offer- 
ings so  unworthy  of  God's  spiritual  being.  Magicians  cer- 
tainly they  were  not,  and  it  was  an  idle  taunt  to  say  that 
the  miracles  of  their  Master  were  the  mere  works  of  magic 
art,  for  prophecy  had  long  ago  foretold  them  by  the 
mouth  of  the  holy  men  of  God  on  whom  a  large  measure 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  must  have  rested.  That  Spirit  or 
Eternal  Logos  was  incarnate  in  its  fulness  only  in  Christ 
Jesus,  though  shared  in  some  degree  by  the  good  men  of 
heathen  days,  like  Socrates  or  Plato.  But  the  Greek 
sages  were  not  able  to  persuade  anyone  to  die  for  his 
belief,  whereas  their  Master  was  obeyed  by  poor  ignorant 
artisans  and  slaves,  who  proved  the  purity  of  theit 
religious  life  by  the  manly  courage  of  their  death  as  ^ 
martyrs.  Great,  however,  as  was  their  devotion  to  their 
heavenly  Master,  they  had  no  lack  of  loyalty  to  Caesar, 
for  the  kingdom  to  which  Christ  pointed  was  no  earthly 
kingdom  of  material  power  ;  but  their  hopes  and  fears  of 
a  life  beyond  the  grave  were  the  surest  sanctions  of 
morality,  and  such  wholesome  restraints  on  evil-doers 
all  wise  governors  must  welcome.  These  were  the  main 
topics  of  the  earliest  Apologies,  interspersed  at  times, 
now  with  attacks  upon  the  heathen  legends  which  sanc- 
tioned the  very  vices  with  which  Christianity  v/as  falsely 
charged,  and  now  with  warnings  against  the  malignant 
action  of  the  demons  who  had  by  the  allurements  of 
idolatry  seduced  men  from  the  worship  of  the  living 
God,  and  who  still  made  their  potent  influence  felt  in 
the  outrages  of  persecution  or  the  snares  of  heretical 
deceivers. 


CH.  VI.        The  Empire  and  Christianity.  149 

We  know  little  but  the  names  of  any  of  the  writers  of 
this  class  before  the  time  of  Justin  Martyr,  and  his  story 
is  mainly  given  us  in  his  works,  if  we  except     -j-j^^  jjj-^  ^f 
the  record  of  his  martyrdom.     Though  born    Justin 
in  a  city   of   Samaria,   he   came   seemingly     ^  ^^^'^' 
of  Gentile  parents,  and  his  attention  was  only  drawn  to 
Christianity  when  he  saw  how  the  believers     justin,  Ap. 
could  face  the  pains  of  death.    ' For  I  mjself,'    "•  ^^• 
he  writes,  '  while  an  admirer  of  Platonic  thought,  heard 
the  Christians  spoken  evil  of ;  but  when  I  saw  them  fear- 
less in  regard  to  death,  and  to  all  else  that  men  think 
terrible,  I  began  to  see  that  they  could  not  possibly  be 
wicked  sensualists.     For  what  man  who  is  licentious  or 
incontinent  would  welcome  death  with  the  certainty  of 
losing  all  that  he  enjoys  ?   Would  he  not  rather  try  to  Hve 
on  as  before,  and  to  shun  the  notice  of  the  rulers,  instead 
of  giving  information  against  himself  which  must  lead  to 
his  death.'"     He  had  passed  from  one  system  to  another 
of  the  ancient  schools  of  thought,  seeking  from  each  sage 
in  turn  to  learn  the  lessons  of  a  noble  life  ;  but  only  when 
he  heard  of  Christian  truth  was  the  fire  lighted  in  his 
soul,  and  he  knew  that  the  object  of  his  search  was  in  his 
grasp,  for  the  true  philosophy  was  found  at  last.      He 
tried  to  pass  it  on  to  other  men,  wearing  as  before  the 
wandering    scholar's    mantle,  and  talked  with   men    of 
every  race  about  the  questions  of  the  faith. 

His  Apologies  were  addressed  by  him  to  the  Antonines 
by  name,  with  what  effect  we  may  best  judge  from  the 
fact  that  he  closed  his  missionary  life  by  a  martyr's  death 
while  Marcus  Aurelius  was  on  the  throne  ;  and  we  have 
reason  to  believe  that  his  sentence  was  pronounced  by 
Rusticus  the  Prasfect,  who  owed  his  place  of  office  to  the 
monarch's  gratitude  for  earlier  lessons  of  morality. 


[  50  The  Age  of  the  Antonines, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE      CHARACTERISTICS      OF      THE      STATE-RELIGION, 
AND   OF  THE  RITES  IMPORTED   FROM  THE  EAST. 

After  studying  the  progress  and  the  dangers  of  the 
Christian  church  we  may  naturally  ask  what  was  the 
character  of  the  national  religion  which  it  tended  to  dis- 
place. An  old  inscription  tells  us  that  a  vote  of  thanks 
was  passed  by  the  Roman  Senate  in  honour  of  Antoninus 
Pius  for  his  scrupulous  care  for  all  the  ceremonial  obser- 
Tjjg  vances  of  public  life.     There  was  indeed  no 

Emperors  special  reason  why  the  Emperors  of  this  age 
respected  should  be  attached  to  the  old  forms  of  Roman 
forn^' of  worship.    The  families  from  which  they  sprung 

national  had  been  long  resident  in  foreign  lands  ;  by 

'  taste  or  from  necessity  they  passed  much  of 
their  time  far  from  the  imperial  city  ;  their  culture  and 
the  language  even  of  their  deepest  thought  was  often 
Greek,  and  they  had  few  ties  of  sentiment  to  bind  them 
to  the  rites  of  purely  Italic  growth.  But  it  had  been  part 
of  the  pohcy  of  Augustus  to  begin  a  sort  of  conservative 
reform  in  faith  and  morals,  and  to  lead  men  to  reverence 
more  earnestly  the  religion  of  their  fathers.  His  suc- 
cessors, wanton  and  dissolute  as  they  often  were,  pro- 
fessed at  least  the  same  desire,  and  expressed  it  often  in 
enduring  shapes  and  costly  ceremonials.  The  Emperora 
of  the  second  century  observed  with  more  consistent 
care  the  same  tradition,  carried  it  even  somewhat  to 
extremes,  as  when  they  stamped  upon  their  medals  the 
legendary  fancies  of  an  early  age,  and  linked  the  old 
poetic  fictions  to  the  associations  of  imperial  rule  ;  just 
as  the  literary  fashion  of  their  times  tried  to  express  its 
complexities  of  thought  and  feeling  in  the  archaic 
rudeness  of  an  ancient  style. 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  1 5  \ 

The  old  religion  of  Italic  growth  was  a  very  artless 
Nature  worship,  whose  deities,  with  uncouth  names,  were 
cold  abstractions  of  the  reason,  personified  as  yet  by  no 
poetic  fency.  They  were  the  sexless  and  mysterious 
agencies  which  presided  over  the  processes  of  husbandry, 
the  powers  of  stream  and  forest,  and  the  sanctities  of  the 
domestic  hearth.  After  a  time,  indeed,  the  exotic  growth 
of  Hellenism  overlaid  the  simple  forms,  which  tended 
perhaps  to  disappear  from  the  language  and  thought  of 
educated  men,  but  lingered  on  in  country  life,  surviving 
even  at  the  last  the  ruin  of  their  more  attractive  rival. 
Among  the  earliest  and  most  distinctive  of  the 

/•  ,      ,.    .  ,        ,  among  the 

usages  of  natural  religion  were  the  observances  most  dis- 
of  the  collegia  or  confraternities  which  served  which  were 
as  organized  forms  of  an  established  worship,  t^he  customs 
These  priesthoods  were  still  recruited  seem-  collegia  or 
ingly  with  the  same  care  as  heretofore.  The  p"«=^''^°°^S' 
oldest  families  of  Rome  were  represented  in  the  Salii, 
among  whom  a  future  Emperor,as  wehaveseen,  wasentered 
at  an  early  age,  and  took  pride  in  mastering  the  niceties 
of  traditional  practice  ;  at  the  Lupercalia  the  half-naked 
priests  still  ran  along  the  streets  of  Rome,  using  the 
time-honoured  words  and  symbols  ;  and  the  Arval 
Brothers  went  through  their  ceremonial  round  with 
formularies  which  had  been  unchanged  for  ages. 

The  last  of  these  dated  certainly  from  immemorial 
antiquity,  for  the  foundation  legend  of  the  city  enrolled 
the  twins  of  Rhea  in  the  then  existing  bro-    such  as 
therhood.     During  the   whole  period  of  the    5wi^^^* 
Republic  its  prayers  and  offerings  continued     Brothers, 
to  express  the  hopes  and  fears  of  rural  Hfe,  though  history 
has  passed  it  by  with  little  notice.     Even  in  imperial  days, 
when  liberal  schemes  of  re-endowment,  due  probably  to 
the  policy  of  Augustus,  had  raised  it  in  the  social  scale, 
\ve  should  know  scarcely  anything  of  the  customs  of  its 


152  The  Age  of  the  Auto  nines.         ch.  vii. 

members  if  we  were  left  only  to  the  common  literary 
sources.  But  a  lucky  accident  has  saved  for  us  unusual 
stores  of  evidence.  Year  by  year  it  was  the  practice  to  have 
the  official  carcful  minutes  taken  of  their  meetings  and  of 
wSstilf  ^^  official  acts,  and  to  commit  them,  not  to 
remain,  frail  materials  or  the  custody  of  their  own 

president,  but  to  monumental  characters  engraved  upon 
the  walls  of  the  temple  where  they  met.  Their  holy  place 
was  not  in  Rome  itself,  but  in  a  quiet  grove  five  miles 
away,  which  in  the  course  of  ages  has  become  a  vineyard, 
while  a  humble  cottage  has  replaced  the  shrine.  Some 
of  the  stone  slabs  which  lined  the  walls  have  been 
worked  into  the  masonry  of  other  buildings,  till  the 
letters  graven  on  them  have  caught  here  or  there  some 
curious  eyes.  One  such,  of  special  value,  containing  the 
oldest  form  of  an  Italian  liturgy,  was  found  a  century  ago 
in  a  chapel  of  St.  Peter's.  Only  a  few  years  ago  the 
Institute  of  Archaeology  at  Rome  resolved  to  explore 
the  field  in  which  the  temple  stood  in  search  of  further 
evidence.  The  scattered  fragments  of  the  stones  were 
pieced  together,  and  a  long  series  of  priestly  archives, 
reaching  from  the  days  of  Augustus  to  those  of  Gordian, 
reappeared  at  length  as  from  the  tomb. 

The  accoimts  of  the  stated  meetings  and  of  many 
occasional  gatherings  are  given  with  surprising  fulness 
describing  of  detail,  and  by  their  help  we  gain  an  insight 
in  ful"'"'^^  quite  unique  into  much  of  the  symbolic  ritual 
detail,  and  characteristic   worship  of  the  Romans. 

Brothers  in  name,  and  twelve  in  number,  to  correspond  to 
the  twelve  lunar  months  in  which  the  round  of  agricultural 
labour  is  completed,  they  were  at  first  the  spokesmen  of 
the  Latin  husbandmen  who  offered  prayer  and  thanks- 
giving for  the  prospects  of  a  fruitful  season  ;  but  in  latei- 
days  the  noblest  families  of  Rome  were  proud  to  figure 
on  the  list  of  a  religious  guild  which  reckoned  at  times 
an  Emperor  for  its  high-priest. 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  1 5  3 

Its  greatest  festival  came  at  the  end  of  May,  when 
the  firstfruits  of  the  earth  were  gathered,  and  a  blessing 
asked  upon  the  works  of  coming  harvest,  especially 
Three  days  the  holy  season  lasted.  The  first  ^^^^^'^ 
and  third  were  kept  at  Rome,  but  the  second  festival, 
must  be  spent  among  the  scenes  of  rural  life  acu  rl-at. 
and  the  brooding  sanctities  of  Nature.  At  Arval. 
early  dawn  the  president  passed  out  of  the  city  walls  to 
the  Tetrastylum  or  Guildhall,  enclosed  in  its  four  lines 
of  colonnade.  Robing  himself  here  in  his  dress  of  state 
with  purple  stripe,  he  went  at  once  to  the  entrance  of 
the  sacred  grove,  where  he  offered  swine  on  one  altar 
and  a  white  heifer  on  a  second,  to  appease  the  sylvan 
deities  whose  mysterious  peace  was  to  be  that  day  dis- 
turbed. While  the  victims  were  roasting  on  the  flames, 
the  other  priests  were  all  assembhng,  and  each  in  turn 
must  enter  his  name  on  the  official  register ;  which  done, 
they  laid  their  robes  aside  and  breakfasted  upon  the 
viands  which  were  now  ready  on  the  altars.  The  hours 
that  followed  were  given  to  repose  in  the  cool  shade, 
but  at  mid-day  another  service  must  begin.  Robed  in  the 
dress  of  state,  with  ears  of  corn  wreathed  round  their 
heads,  they  paced  in  ceremonial  procession  through  the 
grove  up  to  the  central  shrine  where  the  lamb  was 
offered  on  the  altar.  The  wine  and  meal  were  sprinkled 
on  the  ground,  the  clouds  of  incense  filled  the  air,  and 
the  jars  of  antique  form  which  held  the  bruised  meal  of 
earlier  days  were  exposed  to  reverent  adoration  in  the 
shrine.  Once  more  they  issued  from  the  doors,  with 
censers  in  their  hands,  and  offerings  to  the  treasury,  and 
libations  poured  from  silver  cups.  Two  priests  were  then 
despatched  to  gather  the  firstfruits  from  the  fields  hard  by. 
The  ears  of  corn  were  passed  from  left  to  right  through 
the  whole  company,  and  back  again.  Then  with  closed 
(ioors  they  touched  the  jars  of  meal,  and  murmured  over 


f  54  ^^^^  ^S^  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vii. 

each  the  solemn  words  of  dedication,  and  brought  them 
out  to  be  flung  at  last  down  the  hill-side  before  the 
temple.  The  priests  rested  for  a  while  upon  their  marble 
seats,  and  took  from  their  servants'  hands  the  rolls  of  bread 
bedecked  with  laurel  leaves,  and  poured  their  unguents 
on  the  images  around  them.  The  laity  must  then  with- 
draw ;  the  doors  were  barred,  while  the  priests  girded 
their  flowing  dress  about  their  loins,  and  took  each  his 
copy  of  the  service  books  in  which  were  written  the  old 
liturgies  whose  meaning  no  one  present  knew.  The 
venerable  chant  was  sung  with  the  cadenced  movements 
of  the  old  Latin  dance,  and  then  the  servants  reappeared 
with  garlands  which  were  placed  upon  the  statues  of  the 
gods.  The  solemn  forms  were  at  an  end.  The  election 
of  the  president  for  another  year  was  followed  by  the 
customary  greetings  (felicia),  and  the  priests  left  the  grove 
to  rest  in  their  own  hall,  and  to  dine  in  pomp  after  the 
labours  of  the  day.  The  dinner  over,  they  crowned 
themselves  with  roses  and  betook  themselves  with 
slippered  feet  to  the  amusements  of  the  circus  which 
were  held  close  by,  and  closed  the  festival  with  a  supper 
party  in  the  high-priest's  house  at  Rome. 

In  the  proceedings  of  the  Arval  Brotherhood  we  may 
note  three  features  which  seem  to  characterise 
note  in  their    the  national  religion  of  the  Romans. 
Jl^th^^^  (i)  Its  punctilious  regard  for  ancient  forms 

punctilious  may  be  read  in  every  line  of  those  old  archives, 
anaent  The  deity  worshipped  in  that  shrine  was  a 

forms ;  nameless  Dea  Dia  still,  as  in  the  days  before 

Greek  fancy  made  its  way  to  Latium  ;  the  primitive 
religious  dance  (tripodiatus)  was  scrupulously  observed ; 
the  rude  instruments  of  barbarous  ages  were  still  used, 
though  else  unknown  ;  the  words  of  the  chant  they  had 
to  sing  were  so  archaic  that  they  could  not  trust  their 
memories  without  the  book.    The  fear  to  employ  any 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  1 5  5 

instruments  of  iron  in  the  grove  ;  the  changes  of  dress 
and  posture  and  demeanour;  the  careful  entry  in  the 
registers  of  each  stage  in  the  long  ceremonial  service ; 
these  are  examples  of  a  Pharisaic  care  for  outward 
usages  which  may  be  often  found  elsewhere  in  the 
history  of  symbolism,  but  which  in  this  case  seem  to 
have  passed  at  last  into  a  stately  picture  language  which 
spoke  nothing  to  the  reason  and  little  to  the  heart. 

(2)  It  had  therefore  little  influence  on  man's  moral 
nature,  and  scarcely  touched  the  temper  of  his  character 
or  the  practice  of  his  workday  life.  For  the  most 
part  the  deities  whom  they  adored  had  each  his  toll  of 
offering  and  due  respect,  but  did  not  claim  to  ^^j^  ^^ 
guide  the  will  or  check  the  passions.     Cere-    absence  of 

.         ,,.  .1  J-  !•        nu)ral  or 

monial  obedience  might  serve  to  disarm  their  spiritual 
jealousy  or  win  their  favour,  and  men  need  not  "^"^nce ; 
look  to  any  spiritual  influence  beyond.  The  priests  had 
never  been  the  social  moralists  of  Rome  ;  preaching  and 
catechizing  were  unheard  of;  and  the  highest  function- 
aries of  religion  might  be  and  sometimes  were  men  of 
scandalous  life  and  notorious  unbelief.  The  history  of 
the  Arval  Brotherhood  may  help  to  illustrate  the  general 
truth.  In  the  lists  recorded  in  its  archives  may  be  found 
the  names  of  many  of  the  most  profligate  worldlings  of 
imperial  times,  but  very  few  of  good  repute.  Court  favour 
gave  a  title  to  the  priesthood.  Its  practical  concern  was 
the  enjoyment  of  good  cheer,  and  the  inscriptions  carefully 
record  the  sum  which  was  allotted  for  each  banquet  by  the 
jtate,  and  the  drinking  cup  which  was  put  for  every  guest. 
One  list  of  the  year  37  tells  us  that  the  Emperor 
Caligula  presided  on  the  day  of  the  great  festival,  anc 
though  he  was  too  late  to  be  present  at  the  sacrifice 
still  he  was  there  at  least  in  time  for  dinner.  Of  the 
seven  names  which  follow  his,  two  were  borne  by  noble- 
men of  exceptionally  immoral  habits,  a  third  is  called 


156  The  Age  of  the  Antomnes  ch.  vii. 

by  Tacitus  of  a  self-indulgent  nature,  and  not  one  dis- 
played any  great  qualities  in  public  life.  Five  out  of  the 
seven  died  a  felon's  death,  or  to  escape  it  laid  violent 
hands  upon  themselves. 

(3)  The  Romans  had  their  national  worship,  their 
church  as  established  by  the  state.  The  priesthoods 
had  been  commonly  faithful  servants  of  the  governing 
powers,  and  had  never  raised  the  cry  of  rights  of  con- 
science or  of  spiritual  freedom.  The  Arval  Brotherhood 
3rd,  their  ^^^  certainly  the  temper  of  unquestioning 
loyalty  to        loyalty.     We   need  not,   indeed,  lay  special 

established  ^  ^,  .  c       ^    ^ 

powers  of  stress  upon  the  recurrmg  usage  of  state 
state.  prayers  in  which  they  joined  at  every  open- 

ing year  together  with  the  whole  official  world  ;  but  it  is 
curious  to  turn  over  the  archives  of  the  eventful  year  69, 
in  which  four  Emperors  followed  each  other  on  the 
throne,  and  in  which  the  Brothers  took  the  oath  of  fealty 
to  each  with  equal  readiness,  meeting  one  day  under  the 
presidency  of  their  prince,  and  five  days  afterwards  hail- 
ing the  murderer  as  his  successor.  Sometimes  they  met 
to  commemorate  events  of  national  importance,  as  in  the 
days  of  festival  for  Trajan's  Dacian  victories.  But  be- 
sides this  we  have  in  the  first  century  a  whole  series  of 
days  of  thanksgiving  and  intercession  connected  chiefly 
with  the  fortunes  of  the  imperial  family,  whose  chiefs  had 
been  first  patrons  and  then  deities  of  the  old  guild.  The 
Flavian  dynasty  and  the  Antonines  were  too  sensible  and 
modest  to  care  much  for  such  official  flattery,  and  possibly 
they  may  have  grudged  the  sums  allotted  to  such  a  costly 
round  of  entertainments  ;  so  the  meetings  of  the  priests 
grew  fewer,  and  the  entries  in  the  registers  were  rarer, 
save  for  the  May  festivals  of  early  usage. 

The  creed  and  ritual  of  ancient  Rome  were  too  cold 
and  meagre  and  devoid  of  all  emotional  power  to  content 
the  people's  hearts.     The  luxuriant  creations  of  Hellenic 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  157 

fancy,  the  stirring  excitements  of  the  Eastern  worships, 
gradually  came  in  to  fill  the  void,  till  at  last 
all  the  religions  of  the  world  found  a  home    ligionw^' 
in  the  imperial  city.  ^°°  cold  and 

^  •'  meagre  tor 

The  Greek  colonists  who  early  pushed  their  men's 
way  along  the  coasts  of  southern  Italy  handed  ^^"  ^' 
on  the  legends  and  the  rites  of  Greece,  which  even  in 
the  regal  period  gained,  through  the  Sibylline  books,  a 
footing  in  the  state  which  literary  influences  constantly 
increased.  As  Rome's  conquering  arms  were  stretched 
forth  to  embrace  the  world,  as  strangers  flocked  to  see 
the  mistress  of  the  nations,  and  slaves  of  every  race 
were  gathered  within  her  walls,  the  names  and  attributes  of 
foreign  deities  began  to  naturalize  themselves  almost  of 
right,  and  to  spread  insensibly  from  aliens  to  Romans. 

Polytheism   has    commonly    a    tolerant   and   elastic 
system.     It  seldom  tries  to  impose  its  creed  by  force  on 
other  races,  or  to  resist  the  worship  of  new 
gods  as  a  dishonour  to  the  old.     Accustomed    supple- 
already  to  the  thought  of  a  multitude  of  un-     ^^^"g"^  ^^ 
earthly  powers,  it  has  no  scruple  in  adding    creeds  and 
to  their  number,  and  prefers  to  borrow  the 
guardians  of  other  races  rather  than  force  them  to  accept 
its  own.     So  as  land  after  land  was  added  to  the  Empire, 
protection  and  honour  were  accorded  to  the  forms  of 
local  worship,  and  all  the  subject  nations  were  allowed  to 
adore  the  objects  of  their  choice.     If  any  of  them  left 
their  homes,  they  clung,  of  course,  to  the  old  rites,  and 
might  enjoy  them  undisturbed  at  Rome.     It  was,  how- 
ever, quite  another  thing  to  let  them  pass  beyond  the 
bounds  both  of  country  and  of  race,  and  to  give  them  the 
sanction  of  the  state  as  a  form  of  the  established  faith  of 
Rome.   Still  more  so  when  the  latest  comers,  who  claimed 
to  set  up  their  altars  and  their  temples  in  the  street?, 
shocked  the  old-fashioned  scruples  of  the  ruling  states- 


1 5  8  The  Age  of.  the  A  ntomnes.         ch.  vn. 

men  by  their  extravagance  or  sensual  licence,  or  when 
it  seemed  that  secret  societies  were  spreading  through 
which  were  ^^  people  under  the  cover  of  religious  names, 
only  feebly  Then  the  government  stepped  in  with  force 
tS'i^cMl  ^  or  menace,  stamped  out  the  Bacchanalia,  for 
power,  example,    with    terrible    decision,    and    had 

the  shrine  of  I  sis  levelled  to  the  ground,  though  the 
consul's  hand  had  to  strike  the  first  blow  with  the  axe 
when  meaner  arms  were  paralysed  with  fear.  Even  after 
the  days  of  the  Republic,  Augustus,  who  had  shown 
honour  to  Serapis  in  his  Egyptian  home,  forbade  his 
worship  on  the  soil  of  Italy. '  Yet  these  were  only  pass- 
ing measures,  ineffectual  to  stay  the  stream  of  innovation. 
•On  one  pretext  or  another,  the  sanction  of  the  state  was 
given  to  the  alien  rites;  a  war  or  a  pestilence  was  at 
times  enough  to  excuse  an  appeal  to  some  new  tutelary 
power,  and  even  to  cause  invitations  to  be  sent  to  distant 
gods.  As  the  sense  of  the  imperial  unity  grew  stronger, 
the  distinction  between  the  religious  life  of  the  centre  and 
the  provinces  seemed  more  arbitrary  and  unmeaning ;  and 
though  many  a  moralist  of  antique  spirit  gravely  disap- 
proved of  the  tone  and  temper  of  the  eastern  creeds,  yet 
the  rulers  gradually  ceased  to  put  any  check  upon  their 
spread,  so  long  as  each  was  satisfied  to  take  his  place 
beside  the  rest  without  intolerant  aggression  or  defiance 
of  the  civil  power. 

There  was,  besides,  another  tendency  which  made  it 
easier  to  enlarge  the  national  Pantheon.  Many  a  scruple 
was  disarmed  when  men  were  told  that  the  new-comers 
were  only  the  old  famihar  powers  disguised  in  a  new 
shape.  Comparison  had  shown  the  likeness  sometimes 
of  usages  and  prayers  in  different  lands,  sometimes  of 
the  attributes  assigned,  or  of  the  poetic  fancies  which 
had  grown  up  in  time  round  venerable  names.  Sincere 
tbelievers  felt  a  comfort  in  the  thought  that  all  the  multi- 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  1 59 

tude  of  rival  deities  which  seemed  to  have  a  claim  on 
their  respect  consisted  really  of  the  many  masks  assumed 
by  the  same  personal  agencies,  or  were  even  ^^  ^^^ 
separate  qualities  of  the  One  Heavenly  Father,  welcomed 
Plutarch,  priest  of  the  Pythian  Apollo  and  a  uuniTuch 
devout  adherent  of  the  old  religion  of  his  as  Plutarch 
fathers,  yet  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  gods  of  Egypt  in 
which  he  tried  to  prove  that  they  were  in  truth  only  the 
godsof  Greece,  worshipped  with  mysterious  rites  and  some- 
what weird  suggestions  of  the  fancy,  which,  however,found 
a  counterpart  at  home  in  the  native  outgrowths  of  the 
Hellenic  mind.  The  truth  which  the  figurative  language 
of  their  ritual  shadowed  forth  was  one  expressed  in  many 
another  symbol;  the  powers  of  heaven  were  well  content 
that  men  should  read  it,  and  would  yield  their  secrets 
with  a  good  grace  to  the  earnest  seeker.  He  felt,  there- 
fore, the  more  attracted  to  the  mystic  obscurity  of  that 
old  culture  of  the  Pharaohs,  of  which  the  Sphinxes  were 
the  aptest  tokens,  certain  as  he  was  that  all  its  riddles 
might  be  read,  and  would  yield  an  harmonious  and  eternal 
truth. 

Plutarch  never  doubted  of  the  personal  existence  of 
tlie  beings  whom  he  adored,  and  never  resolved  them 
into  mere  abstractions.  Others  there  were  with  piety  no 
less  real  than  his,  who  regarded  all  the  forms  of  popular 
religion  as  useful  in  their  various  degrees,  but  and  Maxi- 
as  all  alike  inadequate  to  express  the  truths  ^S^m'"^' 
which  were  ineffable.  *Doubtless,'says  one  of  10. 
them,  '■  God  the  Father  and  Creator  of  the  Universe  is 
more  ancient  than  the  sun  or  heavens,  is  greater  than 
time,  superior  to  all  that  abides  and  all  that  changes. 
Nameless  He  is,  and  far  away  out  of  our  ken ;  but  as  we 
cannot  grasp  in  thought  His  being,  we  borrow  the  help 
of  words,  and  names,  and  animals,  and  figures  of  gold 
and  ivnry ;  of  plants  and  streams,  and  mountain  heights 


i6o  The  Age  of  the  Aiitonines.        ch.  vit. 

and  torrents.  Yearning  after  Him,  yet  helpless  to  attain  to 
Him,  we  attribute  to  Him  all  that  is  most  excellent  among 
us.  So  do  the  lovers  who  are  fain  to  contemplate  the 
image  of  the  persons  whom  they  love;  who  fondly  gaze 
at  the  lyre  or  dart  which  they  have  handled,  or  the  chair 
on  which  they  sat,  or  anything  which  helps  to  bring  the 
dear  one  to  their  thoughts.  Let  us  only  have  the  thought 
of  God.  If  the  art  of  Phidias  awakens  this  thought  among 
the  Greeks ;  if  the  worship  of  animals  does  the  like  for 
the  Egyptians  ;  if  here  a  river  and  there  the  fire  does  the 
same,  it  matters  little.  I  do  not  blame  variety.  Only 
let  us  know  God  and  love  Him;  only  let  us  keep  His 
memory  abiding  in  our  hearts.* 

In  place  of  the  matter-of-fact  and  ceremonious  religion 
of  the  Latin  farmers,  we  may  trace  in  course  of  time  new 
thoughts  and  feelings  roused  to  play  their  part  in  a  rich 
variety  of  spiritual  moods.  We  may  trace  the  mystic 
reveries  and  ecstatic  visions  such  as  those  which  convent 
life  h.is  often  nursed  in  pious  souls  of  later  times,  where 
the  fancy,  living  overmuch  in  the  world  of  the  unseen, 
loses  its  sense  of  the  reality  and  due  proportions  of  the 
things  of  earth.  We  hear  of  sensitive  and  enthusiastic 
natures  who  see  so  clearly  the  special  providence  which 
broods  over  their  lives,  and  feel  so  keenly  love  and 
gratitude  for  all  the  mercies  given  to  them,  that  they 
speak  of  themselves  as  the  elect  predestined  to  the  favour 
of  heaven.  They  feel  the  workings  of  God's  spirit  in  their 
hearts;  they  see  in  every  turn  of  life  the  traces  of  His 
guiding  hand,  and  airy  visitants  from  other  worlds  look 
in  upon  them  in  their  dreams. 

Such  a  one  was  the  rhetorician  Aristides,  who,  after 
suffering  for  long  years  from  a  malady  which  none  could 
cure,  devoted  himself  to  the  service  of  the  god  Asclepius 
(whom  the  Latins  called  ^sculapius),  living  mainly  in 
his  temple  with  his  priests,  seeing  him  in  visions  of  the 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.  i6i 

night,  following  implicitly  the  warnings  sent  in  sleep, 
and  falling  into  trances  of  unspeakable  enjoyment.   Proud 
of  the  privileges  of  his  special  revelation,  he 
wrote  out  in  impassioned    style  his   sacred    tides,  who 
sermons^  published,  as  he  said,  at  the  dicta-    "^^^^  °^ 
tion  of  his  heavenly  patron.    He  told  the  story    reveries  and 
of  his  ecstatic  moods,  of  the  promised  recovery    ^^'°° 
of  strength  which  followed  in  due  course,  of  the  deliver- 
ance from  instant  danger  vouchsafed  to  him  at  the  great 
earthquake  of  Smyrna,   of  the  comfort   of  the   abiding 
presence  of  a  saving  Spirit,  and  his  thankfulness  for  the 
old  trial  of  sickness  which  brought  him  to  the  notice  of  a 
protector  so  oenign. 

Mystic  aspirations  point  to  the  hope  of  a  closer  union 
with  the  Divine  than  the  trammels  of  our  conmion  life 
allow.    To  rise  above  these  limitations,  to  lose    ^, 

,  .  1    ,     .  ,      ,  .  New  moods 

the  sense  ot  personal  bemg,  and  almost  m-    of  ecstatic 
deed  of  consciousness,  in  the  pulsations  of  a    *®**"^s. 
higher  life — to  this  the  enthusiasm  of  devotion  points  in 
many  a  different  name  and  race.     Most  commonly,  with 
this  end  in  view,  the  soul  would  keep  the  body  under 
and  starve  it  with  ascetic  rigour,  while  the  spirit  beats 
against  its  prison  bars,  panting  for  a  freer  and  a  purer 
air.     Examples  of  such  austerity  of  self-denial  may  be 
also    found  in    heathen    times;    weary  journeyings    to 
holy  places  visited  by    countless    pilgrims,       .-  ,    .  . 
who  must  be  meanly  fed  and  hardly  lodged 
if  they  would  hope  to  gain  the  gladness  of  the  beatific 
vision.     Recluses  too  there  were  in  Egypt,  giving  their 
lives  without  reserve  to  holy  meditation,  and  hoping  to 
draw  nearer  to  their  God  by  wellnigh  ceasing  to  be  men. 
More  frequently  they  had  recourse  to  the  in-    excite- 
fluence  of  highwrought  feeling,  to  the  electric    ™®°^' 
sympathies   by   which    strong  waves  of  passion  sweep 
across  excited  crowds>  and  carry  them  beside  themselves 

A.  H  M 


i62  TJie  Age  of  the  Antonmes.         en.  vii. 

in  transports  of  enthusiasm.  By  the  wild  dance  and 
maddening  din,  by  fleshly  horrors  self-imposed,  or  the 
orgies  of  licentious  pleasure,  by  vivid  imagery  to  make 
the  illusion  of  the  fancy  more  complete,  they  worked 
upon  the  giddy  brain  and  quivering  nerves,  till  the  excited 
votaries  of  I  sis  or  Adonis  passed  beyond  the  narrow 
range  of  everyday  life  into  the  frenzy  of  religious  ecstasy 
and  awe. 

In  the  early  Roman  creed  there  was  little  room  for 
the  hopes  or  fears  of  a  life  to  come.  But  there  is  a 
yearning  in  the  mind  to  pierce  the  veil  which  hides  the 
future  from  the  sight,  and  many  a  prophecy  was  brought 
from  other  lands,  couched  in  hopeful  or  in  warning  tones, 
here  darkly  hinted  in  enigmas,  here  loudly  proclaimed 
in  confidence  outspoken,  there  acted  in  dramatic  forms 
before  the  kindling  fancy  as  in  the  ancient  mysteries  of 
Greece,  or  in  more  questionable  shapes  in  the  ritual  of 
Eastern  creeds. 

Another  influence  was  brought  to  bear  on  Western 
thought  in  the  deeper  sense  of  sinfulness,  as  the  pollution 
and  mystic  °^  ^^^  guilty  soul  and  an  outrage  on  the 
gloom,  majesty  of  God.     With  this  came  in  natural 

course  the  greater  influence  of  the  priests,  to  whom  the 
stricken  conscience  turned  in  its  bewilderment  or  its 
despair.  For  they  alone  could  read  with  confidence  the 
tokens  of  the  will  of  heaven,  they  alone  knew  the  forms  of 
intercession  or  atonement  which  might  bring  peace  by 
promises  of  pardon.  No  longer  silent  ministers  engaged 
in  the  mere  round  of  outward  forms  as  servants  of  the 
j^g  state  ;  they  wandered  to  and  fro  to  spread  the 

encouraged  worship  of  their  patron  saints,  sometimes  with 
rdigions  of  the  missionary  fervour  of  devoted  faith,  some- 
the  East.  times  working  on  men's  hopes  and  fears  to 
gain  a  readier  sale  for  their  indulgences  and  priestly 
charms,  sometimes  like  sordid  mountebanks  and  jugglers 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  t/ie  State.  163 

catering  for  the  wonder-loving  taste  of  credulous  folks  by 
sleight  of  hand  and  magic  incantations. 

Among  the  most  striking  of  such  innovations  due  to 
the  spread  of  Oriental  symbolism  was  the  costly  rite  of 
taurobolium,  in  which  recourse  was  had  to  the  The  striking 
purifying  influence  of  blood.  Known  to  us  ^Yth^tauro- 
chiefly  by  inscriptions,  of  which  the  earliest  boHum. 
dates  from  the  reign  of  Hadrian,  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  the  usage  came  from  Asia  as  a  solemn 
sacrifice  in  honour  of  the  Phrygian  Mother  of  the  Gods. 
From  Southern  Italy  it  passed  to  Gaul,  and  in  the  busy 
town  of  Lugdunum  (Lyons),  the  meeting-point  of  traders 
of  all  races,  it  was  celebrated  with  more  than  common 
pomp.  It  was  the  more  impressive  from  its  rarity,  for  so 
great  seemingly  was  the  cost  of  the  arrangements,  that 
only  the  wealthy  could  defray  it.  Corporations,  there- 
fore, and  town-councils  came  forward  to  undertake  the 
burden,  when  dreams  and  oracles  and  priestly  prophecies 
had  expressed  the  sovereign  pleasure  of  the  goddess. 
Ceremonies  on  such  a  scale  could  be  held  only  by  the 
sanction  of  the  ruling  powers,  and  it  would  seem  that 
an  official  character  was  given  to  the  rites  by  the  presence 
of  the  magistrates  in  robes  of  state.  The  crowning  act 
of  a  long  round  of  solemn  forms  was  the  slaughter  of  the 
bull  itself,  from  which  the  whole  rite  had  drawn  its  name. 
The  votary  in  whose  behalf  the  offering  was  made  de- 
scended with  silken  dress  and  crown  of  gold  into  a  sort 
of  fresh-dug  grave,  above  which  planks  were  spread  to 
hold  the  bull  and  sacrificing  priest.  As  the  IdIow  fell 
upon  the  victim's  neck,  the  streams  of  blood  which  came 
pouring  from  the  wound  flowed  through  the  chinks  and 
fittings  of  the  wood,  and  bathed  the  worshipper  below 
From  the  cleansing  virtue  of  the  blood,  he  became 
henceforth  spiritually  regenerate  (in  asternum  renatus), 
and  at  the  time  an  object  almost  of  adoration  to  the 

M  2 


164  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  vit 

gazing  crowds.  We  need  not  wonder  that  the  writers 
of  the  early  church  indignantly  opposed  such  heathen 
rites,  which  seemed  to  them  a  hideous  caricature  of  the 
two  great  topics  of  their  faith,  Christian  Baptism  and 
Redemption. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  perhaps  that  any  of  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  naturalised  in  later  days  at  Rome 
were  wholly  new  and  unfamiliar.  In  weaker  moods,  in 
rudimentary  forms,  they  may  be  traced  in  the  religion  ot 
the  earliest  days,  and  so  too  even  the  outer  forms  of 
worship,  the  mystic  rites  and  orgies  had  their  counter- 
The  new-  parts  in  ancient  Rome.  Some  scope  was 
comers  were  given  from  the  first  to  sacerdotal  claims,  some 
Hve  side  by  priestly  functions  had  been  claimed  by  women, 
pterin  the  which  made  it  easier  in  later  times  for  priests 
imperial         to  gain  asccndancy,  and  women  to  play  so  large 

Pantheon.  ^    •      .v  v    •  r   .u       i-        •  -n 

a  part  m  the  religion  of  the  Empire.  But 
the  Eastern  influence  gave  intensity  of  life  to  what  before 
was  faint  and  unobtrusive.  It  vivified  the  unseen  world 
which  was  vanishing  away  before  the  practical  materialism 
of  the  Roman  mind.  It  coloured  and  animated  with 
emotional  fervour  the  pale  and  rigid  forms  of  social 
duties.  It  was  the  informing  spirit  which  was  new,  and 
this  could  pass  into  any  of  the  multitudinous  creeds 
which  now  lived  side  by  side  in  peace.  They  could  and 
did  compete  for  popular  favour,  without  bitterness  or 
rancour  in  their  rivalry  ;  and  the  priests  of  one  deity 
could  be  votaries  of  another,  believing,  as  they  often  did, 
that  the  same  Power  was  worshipped  under  different 
disguises  of  nationality  and  language.  Each  took  its 
place  within  the  imperial  Pantheon,  without  the  hope  or 
wish  to  displace  others.  Two  systems  only  proudly  stood 
aloof — the  Jewish  Synagogue,  whose  energies  were 
centred  in  the  work  of  explaining  and  commenting  on 
its   Sacred   Books  •   the  Christian    church — which   was 


Forms  of  Worship  Sanctioned  by  the  State.   165 

turning  from  its  fond  hopes  of  the  speedy  fulfilment  of 
its  kingdom  of  heaven,  to  engage  in  a  struggle  of  life  and 
death,  in  which  all  the  iron  discipline  and  social  forces 
of  the  Empire  stood  arrayed  against  it,  while  it  was  armed 
only  with  the  weapons  of  mutual  kindliness  and  earnest 
faith  and  inextinguishable  hope. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

'JHE  LITERARY  CURRENTS  OF  THE  AGE. 

The  period  of  the  Antonines  abounded  with  hbraries 
and  schools  and  authors,  with  a  reading  public,  and  all 
the  outward  tokens  of  an  educated  love  of    The  wide- 
letters.     Never  has  there  been  more  enthu-    |Ksiasm 
siasm  for  high  culture,  more  careful  study  of    for  learning, 

°  .        ^.  ,  •^      1      but  want  of 

the  graces  of  a  literary  style,  more  critical  creative 
acquaintance  with  good  models,  more  inter-  power, 
change  of  sympathy  between  professors  of  the  different 
schools  ;  and  yet  there  were  but  scanty  harvests  from  all 
this  intellectual  husbandry.  There  was  no  creative 
thought  evolved,  no  monument  of  consummate  ait  was 
reared,  no  conquest  of  original  research  achieved. 

The  scribendi  cacoethes,  the  mania  for  scribbling, 
poured  forth  vast  quantities  of  literary  matter ;  but  most 
of  it  fell  at  once  still-born,  and  much  of  what  remains  has 
Uttle  value  for  us  now,  save  to  illustrate  the  conditions  of 
the  times.  The  men  are  of  more  interest  to  us  than 
their  works.  There  was  colour  and  variety  in  the 
features  of  their  social  status ;  there  were  curious 
analogies  to  the  history  of  later  days  ;  but  we  are  likely  to 
gather  from  their  writings  rather  a  series  of  literary 
portraits,  than  ideas  to  enrich  the  thought  and  fancy,  or 
models  of  art  to  guide  our  taste. 


1 66  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.        ch.  viii. 

The  culture  of  the  age  was  mainly  Greek.  Hel- 
lenic influence  had  spread  long  since  far  into  the 
The  culture  East.  Among  the  populous  towns  of  Asia 
wa?roa15fy  ^^i"or  it  ruled  entirely  without  a  rival ;  it  had 
Greek,  pushcd  its  Way  through  Syria,  and  almost  to 

the  line  of  the  Euphrates  ;  while  it  held  many  an  oul 
post  of  civilised  life  in  the  colonies  planted  long  ago 
among  the  ruder  races  of  the  North.  Through  all  ol 
these  the  liberal  studies  were  diffused,  and  in  their 
schools  the  language  of  Demosthenes  was  spoken  with 
little  loss  of  purity  and  grace.  From  them,  as  well  as 
from  Athens  and  her  neighbours,  came  the  instructors 
who  taught  the  Western  world  ;  from  them  came  the 
newest  literary  wares,  and  the  ruling  fashions  of  the 
season ;  and  even  in  countries  such  as  Gaul,  where 
Rome  had  stamped  so  forcibly  the  impress  of  her 
language  and  her  manners,  scholars  who  hoped  for 
influence  beyond  a  narrow  local  circle,  often  wrote  and 
thought  in  Greek,  as  the  speech  of  the  whole  civilized 
world.  The  old  Roman  tongue  grew  rapidly  more  feeble 
and  less  pure,  with  few  exceptions  the  learned  declined 
to  write  in  it,  and  an  Emperor,  as  we  have  seen,  even  in 
the  memoirs  written  for  no  eye  save  his  own,  expressed 
his  deepest  thoughts  and  feehngs  not  in  Latin  but  in 
Greek. 

The  career  of  a  man  of  letters  was  chiefly  professorial, 
and  his  works  were  meant  more  for  the  ear  than  for  the 
and  pro-  ^^^-  "^^^  sphere  of  action  commonly  was 
fessorial.  found  in  lectures,  conferences,  public  readings, 
panegyrics,  debates,  and  intellectual  tournaments  of 
every  kind.  For  the  scholars  of  those  days  were  not 
content  to  stay  at  home  and  be  prophets  to  their 
countrymen  alone,  or  to  trust  to  written  works  to  spread 
tiieir  fame  ;  but  they  travelled  far  away  from  land  to 
land,  and  ever  as  they  went  they  practised  their  ready 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     \(yj 

wit  and  fluent  tongue.  Like  their  prototypes  in  earlier 
days,  the  rivals  of  Socrates  and  the  objects  of  the  sconi 
of  Plato,  they  were  known  by  the  old  name  of  Sophist, 
which  implied  their  claim  to  be  learned  if  not  to  be  wise, 
and  the  term  was  used  without  reproach  of  the  most 
famous  of  their  number,  whose  lives  were  written  by 
Philostratus.  Citizens  of  the  world,  and  self-s=\yled 
professors  in  the  widespread  university  of  culture, 
they  found  full  liberty  of  speech  and  an  eager  audience 
in  every  town.  For  though  the  times  were  changed 
many  of  the  habits  of  the  old  Republics  lingeied  still ;  and 
though  the  stormy  debates  of  politics  were  silenced,  and 
the  thunders  of  the  orators  of  old  were  heard  no  more, 
still  the  art  of  public  speech  was  passionately  prized,  and 
men  were  trained  even  from  their  childhood  to  study  the 
grace  and  power  of  language,  and  to  crave  some  novel 
form  of  intellectual  stimulus. 

So  when  the  travelling  Sophist  was  heard  of  in 
their  midst,  the  townsmen  flocked  with  curious  ears  about 
the  stranger,  as  the  crowd  gathered  around  ^j^gy^^ous 
Paul  upon  Mars'  Hill,  eager  to  hear  and  classes  of 
tell  of  some  new  thing.  Sometimes  it  was  a  ^°p  ^^'^ 
scholar  of  renown  who  came  with  a  long  train  of 
admirers,  for  young  and  old  went  far  afield  in  search  oi 
knowledge,  and  attached  themselves  for  years  to  a  great 
teacher,  like  the  students  of  the  middle  ages  who  passed 
in  numbers  from  one  famous  university  of  Europe  to 
another,  attracted  by  the  name  of  some  great  master. 
Then  the  news  passed  along  the  streets,  and  time  and 
place  were  fixed  for  a  lecture  of  display  ;  the  magistrates 
came  in  state  to  do  the  speaker  honour,  and  even  an 
Emperor  at  times  deigned  to  look  in,  and  set  the  example 
of  applause  with  his  own  hands.  Sometimes  a  young 
aspirant  came  in  quest  of  laurels,  to  challenge  to  a  triaj 
of  skill  the  veteran  whose  art  was  thought  by  his  country.- 


r68  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm. 

men  to  be  beyond  compare.  Sometimes  came  one  with  all 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  new-found  truth,  to  maintain  some 
striking  paradox,  to  advocate  a  moral  system,  or  some 
fresh  canon  of  literary  taste.  Like  the  great  schoolmen 
of  the  age  of  Dante,  or  the  Admirable  Pico  of  a  later 
time,  they  posted  up  the  theses  which  they  would  hold 
against  all  comers,  and  were  ready  in  their  infinite  pre- 
sumption to  discourse  of  all  the  universe  of  thought  and 
being  (de  omni  scibili  et  ente),  and  when  weary  of  the 
sameness  of  the  scholar's  life  wandered  like  knights-errant 
round  the  world  in  search  of  intellectual  adventures. 
Sometimes  it  was  a  poor  vagrant  with  a  tattered  mantle, 
who  gathered  a  crowd  around  him  in  the  streets,  and 
declaimed  with  rude  energy  against  the  luxury  and 
wantonness  of  the  hfe  of  cities,  bidding  men  look  within 
them  for  the  sources  of  true  happiness  and  worthy 
manhood.  Like  the  preaching  friars  of  the  Christian 
church,  they  appealed  to  every  class  without  distinction, 
startling  the  careless  by  their  examples  of  unworldliness, 
and  striking  often  on  the  chords  of  higher  feeling,  as 
they  spoke  to  the  rich  and  noble  in  the  plain  language 
of  uncourtly  warning.  Yet  often  the  Cynic's  mantle  was 
only  a  disguise  for  sturdy  beggars,  disgusting  decent  folks 
by  their  importunate  demands,  and  dragging  good  names 
and  high  professions  through  the  mire  of  sensuality  and 
lust 

The  name  of  Sophist  was  applied  in  common  speech 
to  two  great  classes,  which,  rivals  as  they  were  for  popular 
falling  esteem,  and  scornful  as  was  each  of  the  pre- 

under  the        tensions  of  the  other,  were  yet  alike  in  many 

main  divi-  '  ^        ,  ' 

sions  of,  1°  of  the  features  of  their  social  life,  and  were 
SndphUoso-  scarcely  distinguished  from  each  other  by  the 
phere,  world. 

The  first  included  the  professional  morahsts  and 
high  thinkers,  who  claimed  to  have  a  rule  of  active  life 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     169 

or  a  theory  of  eternal  truth  which  might  be  of  infinite 
value  to  their  fellow  men.  Philosophy  had  somewhat 
changed  its  aims  and  methods  since  the  great  systems 
of  original  inquiry  had  parted  the  schools  of  Greece 
among  them.  The  old  names,  indeed,  of  Platonist  and 
Peripatetic,  Epicurean  and  Stoic,  still  were  heard  ;  but 
the  boundary  lines  were  growing  fainter,  and  the  doctrines 
of  each  were  losing  the  sharpness  of  their  former  outlines. 
Philosophy  had  lost  the  keenness  of  her  dialectic,  the 
vigour  and  boldness  of  her  abstract  reasoning ;  she  had 
dropped  her  former  subtlety,  and  was  spending  all  her 
energy  of  thought  and  action  on  the  great  themes  of 
social  duty.  She  aspired,  and  not  quite  in  vain,  to  be 
the  great  moral  teacher  of  mankind.  She  stepped  into 
the  place  which  heathen  religion  long  had  left  unfilled, 
and  claimed  to  be  the  directress  of  the  consciences  of 
men.  When  the  old  barriers  were  levelled  to  the  ground ; 
when  natural  law,  and  local  usages,  and  traditional 
standards  became  effaced  or  passed  away  before  the 
levelling  action  of  the  imperial  unity;  when  servile  flattery 
began  to  abdicate  the  claims  of  manhood,  and  to  acknow- 
ledge no  source  of  law  and  right  but  the  caprices  of  an 
absolute  monarch,  philosophy  alone  began  on  sure  founda- 
tions to  raise  the  lines  of  moral  order,  philosophy  alone 
was  heard  to  plead  in  the  name  of  dignity  and  honour. 
She  left  the  shadow  of  the  schools,  the  quiet  groves  of 
Academe,  the  Gardens,  and  the  Porch,  and  came  out  into 
the  press  and  throng  of  busy  life  under  every  variety 
of  social  guise.  She  furnished  her  lecturers  of  renown, 
holding  chairs  with  endowments  from  the  state,  and 
speaking  with  the  authority  of  men  of  science.  She  had 
her  spiritual  advisers  for  great  houses,  living  like  domestic 
chaplains  in  constant  attendance  on  the  wealthy  and 
well-born.  There  were  father  confessors  for  the  ruler's 
ear,  rivalling  in    influence  the  ladies  of  the    imperial 


1 70  The  Age  of  the  A  ntomnes.         ch.  viii. 

household.  There  were  physicians  of  the  soul,  who  had 
their  Httle  social  circles  of  which  they  were  the  oracleS; 
guiding  the  actions  of  their  friends,  sometimes  by  con- 
fidential letters,  sometimes  by  catechetical  addresses, 
while  at  times  their  familiar  table  talk  was  gathered 
up  for  private  use  in  the  diaries  of  admiring  pupils. 
Missionaries  travelled  in  her  name  from  town  to  town, 
with  hardy  courage  and  unvarnished  phrase,  like  the 
Mendicant  Friars  of  later  days,  speaking  to  the  people 
mainly  in  the  people's  tongue,  and  denouncing  the  lust 
of  the  eye  and  the  pride  of  life  in  the  spirit  of  Christian 
ascetics. 

The  greatest  among  the  heathen  moralists  of  the  age 
was  Epictetus.  The  new-bought  slave,  for  that  is  the 
such  as  meaning  of  the  only  name  by  which  history 

Epictetus,  knows  him,  early  exchanged  his  Phrygian 
home  for  the  mansion  of  a  Roman  master,  who  seems  to 
have  been  a  vulgar  soul,  cringing  to  the  powerful  and 
haughty  to  the  weak,  and  who  treated  him  probably  with 
little  kindness,  even  if  he  did  not,  as  one  version  of  the 
story  runs,  break  his  slave's  leg  in  a  freak  of  wanton 
jest.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  his  master  sent  the 
lame  and  sickly  youth  to  hear  the  lessons  of  the  most 
famous  of  the  Stoic  teachers,  intending  him,  perhaps,  for 
literary  labour  because  he  was  too  weak  for  other  work. 
The  pupil  made  good  use  of  the  chances  offered  him  ;  and 
when  in  after  years  he  gained  his  freedom,  he  ruled  his 
Hfe  in  all  things  by  the  system  of  his  choice,  proving  in 
the  midst  of  his  patient,  brave,  and  unobtrusive  poverty 
how  fully  he  had  mastered  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Porch. 
No  cell  of  Christian  monk  was  ruder  than  his  simple 
bedroom,  of  which  the  only  furniture  was  a  pallet  bed 
and  iron  lamp,  and  when  the  latter  was  taken  by  a  thief, 
it  was  replaced  by  one  of  clay. 

Epictetus  wrote  no  works    and  made  no  parade  in 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     171 

public  as  a  sage  ;  but  he  talked  freely  to  his  friends,  and 
admirers  gathered  round  him  by  degrees  to  hear  his  racy 
earnest  sermons  on  one  moral  question  or  another,  and 
some  made  notes  of  what  he  said,  and  passed  them  on  in 
their  own  circles,  till  his  fame  at  last  spread  far  and  wide 
beyond  the  range  of  personal  acquaintance.  Arrian,  his 
devoted  friend,  has  left  us  two  such  summaries  ;  one  a 
Manual  of  his  Rule  of  Life,  couched  in  brief  and  weighty 
words,  as  of  a  general  to  his  soldiers  under  tire ;  the 
second,  a  sort  of  Table  Talk,  which,  flowing  on  with  less 
dogmatic  rigour,  found  tenderer  and  more  genial  tones 
to  speak  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard  him.  He 
eschewed  all  subtleties  of  metaphysics,  all  show  of 
paradox  or  hterary  graces ;  his  thoughts  are  entirely 
transparent  and  sincere,  expressed  in  the  homeliest  of 
prose,  though  varied  now  and  then  by  bursts  of  rude 
eloquence  and  vivid  figures  of  the  fancy.  In  them  the 
whole  duty  of  man,  according  to  the  Stoic  system,  is  put 
forth  in  the  strongest  and  most  consistent  form  ;  and  as 
such,  they  were  for  centuries  the  counsellors  and  guides 
of  thousands  of  self-centred  resolute  natures. 

To  bear  and  to  forbear  in  season,  to  have  a  noble 
disregard  for  all  the  passing  goods  of  fortune,  and  all 
which  we  cannot  of  ourselves  control ;  to  gain  an  absolute 
mastery  over  will  and  temper,  thought  and  feeling,  which 
are  wholly  in  our  power— to  make  Reason  sit  enthroned 
within  the  citadel  of  Self,  and  let  no  fitful  gusts  of 
passion,  no  mere  brute  instincts  guide  our  action— these 
in  bare  outhne  are  the  dogmas  of  a  creed  which  insists 
as  few  have  ever  done  upon  the  strength  and  dignity  of 
manhood.  True,  there  are  harsh  words  at  times,  full  of 
a  stern,  ascetic  rigour,  as  when  he  bids  men  not  to  grieve 
for  the  loss  of  friend,  or  wife,  or  child,  and  to  let  no 
foolish  pity  for  the  ills  of  any  whom  he  loves  cloud  the 
serenity  of  the  sage's  temper.     Rebuking  grief,  lie  needs 


1/2  TTce  Age  of  the  Antonines.        ch.  vm. 

must  banish  love,  for  grief  itself  is  only  love  which  feels 
the  lack  of  what  is  torn  away,  and  without  sympathy  to 
stir  us  from  our  moods  of  lonely  selfishness  we  should 
bC' merely  animals  of  finer  breed  and  subtler  brain. 

But  Epictetus  could  not  trample  out  all  feeling ;  he 
rises  even  to  a  height  of  lyric  fervour  when  he  speaks  ol 
the  providence  of  God,  of  the  moral  beauty  of  His  works, 
and  the  strange  insensibility  of  ungrateful  men.  Nor 
would  he  have  his  hearers  rest  content  with  the  selfish 
hope  of  saving  their  own  souls  ;  rather,  he  would  have 
them  ever  think  of  the  human  brotherhood,  and  live  not 
for  themselves  but  for  the  world.  He  falls  into  a  vein  of 
Christian  language  when  he  speaks  of  the  true  philosopher 
as  set  apart  by  a  special  call,  anointed  with  the  unction 
of  God's  grace  to  a  missionary  work  of  lifelong  self- 
devotion,  as  the  apostle  of  a  high  social  creed.  Un- 
consciously, perhaps,  he  holds  up  the  mirror  to  himself  in 
this  description,  and  the  rich  colouring  and  impassioned 
fervour  of  the  chapter  redeem  the  austerity  of  his  moral 
system. 

The  substance  of  some  passages  may  serve  perhaps  to 
complete  the  brief  sketch  of  his  character  and  thought. 
_^.     ...  When  asked  to  describe  the  nature  of  the 

ideal  Cynic,  he  said  that  heaven's  wrath  would 
light  on  him  who  intruded  rashly  into  a  ministry  so  holy. 
It  called  for  an  Agamemnon  to  lead  a  host  to  Troy ;  none 
but  Achilles  could  face  Hector  in  the  fight  ;  if  a  Ther- 
sites  had  presumed  to  take  that  place,  he  would  have 
been  thrust  away  in  mockery  or  disgrace.  So  let  the 
would-be  Cynic  try  himself,  and  count  the  cost  before  he 
starts  for  the  campaign.  To  wear  a  threadbare  cloak  is 
not  enough  :  something  more  is  needed  than  to  live 
hardly — to  carry  stafi"  and  wallet,  and  to  be  rude  and  un- 
mannerly to  all  whose  life  seems  too  luxurious  or  self-in- 
dulgent.    It  were  an  easy  matter  to  do  this.    But  to  keep 


CH,  VIII.    Tfie  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.      173 

a  patient,  uncomplaining  temper,  to  root  out  vain  desire 
and  rise  above  the  weakness  of  anger,  jealousy,  pity, 
and  every  carnal  appetite,  to  make  the  sense  of  honour 
take  the  place  of  all  the  screens  or  safeguards  of  door 
and  inner  chamber,  to  have  no  secrets  to  conceal,  no 
shrinking  fear  of  banishment  or  death,  in  the  confidence 
of  finding  everywhere  a  home  where  sun  and  moon  will 
shine,  and  communion  will  be  possible  with  heaven — this 
is  not  an  easy  thing,  but  to  be  able  to  do  this  is  to  be  a 
philosopher  indeed.  Thus  furnished  for  the  work  of  life, 
the  true  Cynic  will  feel  that  he  has  a  mission  to  be  a 
preacher  of  the  truth  to  erring  men  who  know  so  little  ol 
what  is  really  good  or  evil.  He  is  sent  as  a  seer  to  learn 
the  path  of  safety,  and  as  a  prophet  to  warn  his  fellow- 
men  of  all  their  dangers.  It  is  for  him  to  tell  them  the 
secret  of  true  happiness,  that  it  does  not  lie  in  the  comfort 
of  the  body,  nor  in  wealth,  nor  high  estate,  nor  office,  nor 
in  anything  which  lies  exposed  to  the  caprice  of  chance, 
but  only  in  the  things  which  fall  within  the  range  of  man's 
freewill,  in  his  own  domain  of  thought  and  action. 

Men  ask  indeed  if  any  can  be  happy  without  the 
social  blessings  which  they  prize.  It  is  for  the  apostle  ot 
philosophy  to  show  that,  homeless,  childless,  wifeless 
wanderer  though  he  be,,  with  only  a  mantle  on  his  body 
and  the  sky  above  his  head,  he  can  yet  enjoy  entirest 
freedom  from  all  anxiety  and  fear,  and  from  all  the 
misery  of  a  fretful  temper.  But  let  no  one  rashly  fancy 
that  he  is  called  to  such  a  life  without  weighing  well  its 
duties  and  its  dangers.  Let  him  examine  himself  well, 
and  learn  the  will  of  God  whose  messenger  he  would 
claim  to  be.  Outraged  and  buffeted  he  may  be,  like  a 
poor  beast  of  burden  ;  but  he  must  love  his  persecutors 
as  his  brethren.  For  him  there  can  be  no  appeal  to 
Caesar  or  to  Caesar's  servants,  for  he  looks  only  to  his 
Sovereign  in  heaven,  and  m.ust  bear  patiently  the  trials 


1 74  The  Age  of  the  A  ntonines.         ch. 


VIII. 


which  He  sends  him.  In  a  realm  of  perfect  sages  there 
would  be  no  call  into  the  mission-field,  and  all  might 
innocently  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  home  hfe  in  peace. 
But  that  soldier  serves  most  cheerfully  who  has  no  cares 
of  wife  or  household,  and  the  Cynic  who  has  felt  the  call 
to  do  God's  work  must  forswear  the  blessings  of  the  life 
of  husband  or  of  father,  must  rise  above  the  narrower 
range  of  civic  duties,  remembering  that  all  men  are  his 
brothers  and  his  city  is  the  world. 

Yet  large  as  is  the  call  upon  his  self-denial,  he  should 
not  aim  at  needless  austerity  or  ascetic  gloom.  There  is 
no  sanctity  in  dirt  or  vermin,  nothing  to  win  souls  or  to 
attract  the  fancy  in  emaciated  looks  and  a  melancholy 
scowl ;  nor  is  there  any  reason  why  the  missionary  must 
be  a  beggar.  Epictetus  saw  no  merit  in  hardships  self- 
imposed,  nor  would  he  have  men  turn  from  pleasure  as 
from  a  traitor  offering  a  kiss;  only  he  would  have  them 
alile  to  part  cheerfully  with  all  save  truth  and  honour,  in 
the  spirit  of  pilgrims  on  the  march.  '  As  on 
a  journey,  when  the  ship  is  lying  at  anchor, 
thou  mayest  land  to  take  in  water,  and  gather  shells  and 
the  like  upon  the  shore,  but  must  keep  the  vessel  still  in 
view,  and  when  the  steersman  beckons,  must  leave  all  else 
at  once  to  come  on  board  :  so,  too,  in  life's  pilgrimage, 
if  wifelet  or  little  one  be  given  thee  for  a  while,  it  may  be 
well,  but  see  to  it  that  thou  art  ready,  when  the  pilot 
calls,  to  go  at  once,  and  turn  not  to  look  back.' 

The  life  of  Dion  Chrysostom  may  serve  to  illustrate 

still  further  the  ideal  of  the  philosophic  propaganda  of 

,  ^.  these  times.     He  was,  indeed,  no  Stoic  by  pro- 

and  Dion  r       -  iti  -i- 

Chrysos-  fession,  and  did  not  use  heroic  tones  ;  yet 
^°^  like  the  sage  pictured  to  our  fancy  in  the 

strong  words  of  Epictetus,  he  felt  that  he  was  called  to 
spend  his  life  unselfishly  for  others,  and  to  preach  and 
plead  to  every  class  in  the  enthusiasm  of  a  religious  duty 


fcH.  viii.     T/ic  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age,     175 

He  only  gradually  awoke,  indeed,  to  the  sense  of  liis  vo- 
cation, and  it  is  curious  to  read  his  own  account  of  his 
conversion  to  philosophy,  and  note  his  confessions  of  un- 
vvorthiness. 

Driven  by  a  popular  riot  from  his  home  at  Prusa,  in 
which  town  he  had  already  filled  the  highest  offices,  he 
betook  himself  to  Rome,  where  he  gained  a  name  by 
eloquence,  and  the  hatred  of  Domitian  by  outspoken 
satire.  He  fled  away  and  lived  a  wandering  life,  in  the 
course  of  which,  as  we  have  seen  already  (p.  6),  he 
appeased  a  mutiny  among  the  legions  when  the  news  of 
»^he  tyrant's  murder  reached  their  camp  upon  the  northern 
frontier.  During  those  years  of  banishment  he  hid  his 
name  but  could  not  hide  his  talents  ;  his  threadbare 
cloak  was  taken  for  a  Cynic's  mantle,  and  men  often 
came  to  him  to  ask  for  counsel.  His  quibbles  of  rhetoric 
availed  him  little  for  cases  of  conscience  such  as  these,  and 
he  was  driven  to  meditate  in  earnest  on  great  themes  of 
duty,  and  seek  for  truth  at  the  sources  of  a  higher  wisdom. 
With  light  so  gained  he  saw  the  vanity  of  human  wishes, 
he  felt  the  littleness  of  his  earlier  aims,  and  resolved  to 
devote  his  eloquence  to  a  higher  cause  than  that  of  personal 
ambition.  He  would  spend  himself  for  the  needs  of 
every  class  without  distinction,  and  tend  the  anxious  or 
despairing  as  the  physician  of  their  souls,  regretting  only 
that  so  few  care  for  serious  thought  in  the  season  of  pro- 
sperity, and  fly  to  the  sage  for  ghostly  counsel  only  when 
loss  of  friends  or  dear  ones  makes  them  feel  the  need  of 
consolation. 

The  details  of  his  life  and  character  are  known  to 
us  chiefly  by  his  works,  some  of  which  are  moral  essays, 
sermons,  as  it  were,  on  special  texts  which  might  be 
preached  to  any  audience  alike,  while  others  are  set 
speeches  made  in  public  as  occasion  called  him  forth  in 
many  a  far-off  city  where  he  sojourned  in  his  wandering 


t76  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.        ch.  viii. 

career.  In  the  former  class  we  note  that  among  all  the 
commonplaces  of  the  schools,  high  thoughts  may  be  met 
mth  here  and  there,  full  of  a  large  humanity,  and  with 
an  entirely  modem  sound.  In  a  world  whose  social 
system  rested  on  a  basis  of  slave  labour,  he  raised  his 
voice  not  merely  to  plead  for  kindliness  and  mercy,  but 
to  dispute  the  moral  right  of  slavery  itself  Feeling  deeply 
for  the  artisan  and  peasant,  whose  happiness  was  sacri- 
ficed, and  whose  social  status  was  degraded  by  the  haughty 
sentiment  of  Greece  and  Rome,  he  spoke  in  accents 
seldom  heard  before  of  the  dignity  and  prospects  of  in- 
dustrial labour.  His  account  of  the  shipwrecked  traveller 
in  Euboea  gives  us  a  picture,  else  unequalled  in  its  vivid- 
ness, of  the  breach  between  the  city  and  the  country  life, 
and  of  the  uncared-for  loneliness  of  much  of  the  rural 
population. 

But  the  second  class  of  writings  best  reflects  the 
temper  and  activity  of  Dion's  efforts  to  bring  philosophy 
to  bear  upon  the  world.  They  show  him  as  the  advo- 
cate of  peace,  stepping  in  with  words  of  timely  wisdom 
to  allay  the  bitterness  of  long-standing  feuds,  or  the 
outbreak  of  fresh  jealousies  such  as  had  lingered  for 
centuries  among  the  little  states  of  the  i^gean,  and  sur- 
vived even  the  tutelage  of  Roman  power.  At  one  time  the 
subject  of  dispute  is  the  scene  of  the  provincial  courts,  at 
another  the  proud  title  of  metropolis  of  Asia  ;  at  another 
some  infinitely  petty  right  of  fisheries  or  of  pasture. 
Quarrels  such  as  these  brought  citizens  of  rival  towns 
into  collision  in  the  streets,  and  led  to  interchange  of  pas- 
sionate complaints,  wearying  out  the  patience  of  their 
Roman  masters  by  the  vanity  and  turbulence  of  these 
Greek  republics.  All  Dion's  tact  and  all  his  eloquence 
were  needed  in  such  cases,  to  enforce  the  eternal  princi- 
ples of  concord  and  forbearance  by  the  dexterous  use  of 
personal  appeals.     He  shows  his  sense  of  the  importance 


CH.  VIII.    The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     ijy 

of  this  work  by  speaking  with  a  sort  of  fervour  of  the  bo'y 
functions  of  this  ministry  of  reconcihation. 

He  was  jealous  of  his  dignity  and  independence, 
stooping  to  truckle  neither  to  the  violence  of  mob-licence 
nor  to  the  caprices  of  a  monarch.  He  startled  the  disso- 
lute populace  of  Alexandria  by  his  bold  defiance  of  their 
wanton  humour,  and  by  his  skilful  pleading  to  have  the 
claims  of  philosophy  respected.  He  bore  himself  with 
courteous  firmness  in  the  presence  of  the  Court,  and  lec- 
tured Trajan  on  the  duties  of  a  royal  station  without  any 
loss  of  honest  frankness  or  imperial  favour.  He  preached 
on  the  vanity  of  human  glory,  and  was  one  day  to  prove 
in  his  own  person  how  treacherous  and  unsubstantial  a 
thing  it  is.  The  cities  which  had  honoured  him  as 
their  teacher  and  their  friend  were  presently  to  grow 
weary  of  his  counsels,  and  to  show  him  the  indignity  ol 
setting  another  head  upon  his  statues.  Prusa,  his  birth- 
place, and  the  object  of  his  special  tenderness,  was  to 
tiuTi  against  him  in  blind  fury,  and  to  denounce  him  to 
the  Roman  governor  as  a  traitor  and  a  thief. 

To  the  vicissitudes  of  the  career  of  Dion  we  may  find 
a  striking  contrast  in  the  unbroken  calm  of  Plutarch's 
life.  Descended  from  an  ancient  family  of 
the  Boeotian  Chaeroneia,  after  drawing  from 
the  sources  of  ancient  art  and  learning  at  their  fountain 
head  at  Athens,  he  betook  himself  in  riper  years  to 
Rome,  where,  besides  attending  to  the  duties  with  which 
he  seems  to  have  been  charged  in  the  service  of  his  fellow- 
townsmen,  he  lectured  publicly  from  time  to  time,  and 
made  good  use  of  the  literary  stores  amassed  in  the  great 
libraries,  and  of  the  interchange  of  thought  in  the  culti- 
vated circles  of  the  capital.  In  the  vigour  of  his  intellec- 
tual manhood  he  went  back  to  Chaeroneia,  where  he  lived 
henceforth,  for  fear,  he  says,  that  the  little  town  should 
lose  in  him  a  single  citizen;   serving   with  honourable 

A.H,  N 


1 78  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm. 

zeal  in  the  whole  round  of  civil  and  religious  offices,  and 
winnmg  the  respect  of  all  his  neighbours  as  well  as  of 
many  correspondents  from  abroad. 

Full  of  the  generous  patriotism  of  the  best  days  of 
Greece,  he  gave  his  time  and  thought  without  reserve 
to  the  service  of  his  countrymen,  though  he  allowed  no 
glamour  of  ancient  sentiment  to  cloud  his  judgment. 
He  told  the  young  aspirants  round  him  that,  when  they 
read  the  harangues  of  Pericles  and  the  story  of  their 
old  republics,  they  must  be  careful  to  remember  that 
those  times  were  gone  for  ever,  and  that  they  must 
speak  with  bated  breath  in  their  assemblies,  since  the 
power  had  passed  into  the  hands  of  an  imperial  governor. 
It  was  idle  to  be  like  the  children  at  their  play,  who 
dress  themselves  as  grown-up  folks,  and  put  on  their 
fathers'  robes  of  state.  And  yet  the  worthy  citizen,  he 
says,  has  no  lack  of  opportunities  for  action.  To  keep 
open  house,  and  so  to  be  a  harbour  of  refuge  for  the 
wanderers,  to  sympathise  with  joy  and  grief,  to  be  care- 
ful not  to  wound  men's  feelings  by  the  wantonness  of 
personal  display;  to  give  counsel  freely  to  the  unwary,  to 
bring  parted  friends  once  more  together,  to  encourage 
the  efforts  of  the  good  and  frustrate  the  villany  of 
designing  knaves,  to  study,  in  a  word,  the  common  weal, 
these  are  the  duties  which  a  citizen  can  discharge  until  his 
dying  day,  whether  clothed  or  not  with  offices  of  state. 

For  Plutarch  did  not  write  merely  as  a  literary  artist 
to  amuse  a  studious  leisure  or  revive  the  memory  of 
heroic  days,  but  as  a  moraUst  invested  by  public  con- 
fidence with  a  sort  of  priesthood  to  direct  the  con- 
sciences of  men.  He  had,  indeed,  no  new  theory  of 
morals  to  maintain,  and  made  no  pretension  to  original 
research;  he  wished  not  to  dazzle  but  to  edify,  to  touch 
the  heart  and  guide  the  conduct  rather  than  instruct 
tiie  reason.      His  friends  or  neighbours  come  to  him  for 


CH.  VIII.    The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.      179 

counsel  on  one  or  other  of  life's  trials,  and  he  sends  them 
willingly  the  fruit  of  his  study  or  reflexion.  He  holds  his 
conferences  like  a  master  of  the  schools,  and  the  privi- 
leged guests  flock  willingly  to  hear  the  sermons  of  which 
the  subject  has  already  been  announced,  and  hsten  with 
becoming  gravity  to  the  exhortations  of  the  sage.  Some- 
times they  are  invited  to  propose  a  question  for  debate  ; 
but  nothing  frivolous  can  be  allowed,  nor  may  any  of  the 
audience  betray  an  unseemly  lack  of  interest, '  like  the 
bidden  guest  who  scarcely  touches  with  his  lips  the  viands 
which  his  host  has  spread  before  him.'  The  listener's 
mind  must  be  ever  on  the  alert,  *as  the  tennis  player 
watches  for  the  ball,'  and  he  never  should  forget  that  he 
is  sitting,  not  like  a  lounger  at  the  theatre,  but  in  a  school 
of  morals  where  he  may  learn  to  regulate  his  life.  The 
lecture  ended,  or  the  public  conference  closed,  the  privi- 
leged few  remain  to  discuss  the  subject  further  with 
their  master,  while  here  or  there  a  stricken  conscience 
stays  behind  to  confess  its  secret  grief  and  ask  for  ghostly 
admonition.  But  the  teacher's  doors  are  ever  open  ;  all 
may  freely  come  and  go  who  need  encouragement  or 
advice  on  any  point  of  social  duty.  Out  of  such  familiar 
intercourse,  and  the  cases  of  conscience  thus  debated, 
grew  the  treatises  of  ethics  which,  read  at  Rome  and 
Athens  as  well  as  in  the  little  town  of  Chaeroneia,  ex- 
tended to  the  world  of  letters  the  fruits  of  his  ministry  of 
morals. 

He  did  not  always  wait  to  be  applied  to,  but  sought 
out  at  times  the  intimates  who  seemed  to  need  his  counsels, 
watched  their  conduct  with  affectionate  concern,  and 
pressed  in  with  warning  words  amid  the  business  of  com- 
mon life.  He  tried  to  recommend  philosophy  not  by  pre- 
cept only  but  by  practice,  first  testing  on  himself  the  value 
of  his  spiritual  drugs,  and  working  with  humility  for  the 
salvation  of  his  soul.     '  It  was  for  the  good  of  others ' 

N  2 


l8o  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  viii. 

he  tells  us,  *that  I  first  began  to  write  the  biographies 
of  famous  men,  but  I  have  since  taken  to  them  for  my 
own  sake.  Their  story  is  to  me  a  mirror,  by  the  help  of 
which  I  do  my  best  to  rule  my  life  after  the  likeness  of 
their  virtues.  1  seem  to  enter  into  living  communion 
with  them;  while  bidding  them  welcome  one  by  one  under 
the  shelter  of  my  roof,  I  contemplate  the  beauty  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  souls  unbared  before  me  in  their  actions.' 

Yet  it  was  not  without  other  reasons  that  he  lingered 
over  these  old  passages  of  history  and  romance.  For,  in- 
deed, with  all  his  width  of  sympathy  and  his  large  human- 
ityj  the  mind  of  Plutarch  was  cast  in  an  antique  mould.  At 
home  mainly  in  the  world  of  books  or  in  the  social  moods 
of  a  petty  town  of  Greece,  he  knew  little  of  the  new  ideas 
which  were  then  leavening  the  masses.  The  Christian 
church,  meantime,  was  setting  the  hearts  of  men  aglow 
with  the  story  of  a  noble  life  which  could  find  no  sort 
of  parallel  in  his  long  list  of  ancient  worthies.  Dion 
Chrysostom  had  dared  to  call  the  right  of  slavery  in 
question,  and  spoke  as  feelingly  as  any  modern  writer  of 
the  sorrows  of  the  proletariate  and  the  dignity  of  labour. 
Marcus  Aurelius  was  soon  to  show  what  delicate  humility 
and  unselfish  grace  could  blossom  in  the  midst  of  heathen- 
dom, while  straining  after  visions  of  perfection  not  to  be 
realized  in  scenes  of  earth.  But  Plutarch's  thought  in 
religion  and  in  morals  seems  scarcely  to  have  passed 
beyond  the  stage  of  human  progress  reached  long  ago  in 
Plato's  days,  and  five  centuries  had  passed  away  and 
taught  him  no  new  principle  of  duty. 

He  believed  in  the  unity  of  God,  and  saw  the  vanity 
of  idol  worship  ;  but  to  him  the  essence  of  religion  lay 
not  in  dogmas  or  rules  of  life,  but  in  solemn  ritual.  He 
clung  to  the  edifying  round  of  holy  forms,  though  the 
faith  to  which  they  ministered  of  old  was  swept  away, 
and  though  he  had  to  people  the  unseen  world  with  inter- 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     i8i 

mediate  spirits,  and  freely  resort  to  allegoric  fancy,  to 
justify  the  whole  mythology  of  Greek  religion. 

In  morals  his  ideal  is  confined  to  the  culture  and 
perfection  of  the  personal  aspirant ;  and  amiable  and 
chastened  as  are  his  tones  of  courtesy,  his  talk  is  still  ol 
happiness  rather  than  of  duty,  and  his  spiritual  horizon 
is  too  narrow  to  take  in  the  thought  of  the  loathsomeness 
of  evil  and  the  enthusiasm  of  charity.  His  calm  serenity 
reminds  us  of  the  temples  of  old  Greece,  which  attain  in 
all  that  is  attempted  to  a  simple  grace  and  a  consummate 
art,  with  none  of  the  gloom  and  mystery  of  a  Christian 
cathedral,  and  with  little  of  its  witness  to  a  higher  world 
and  its  vision  of  unfulfilled  ideals. 

But  most  of  the  scholars  of  the  day  made  no  preten- 
sions to  such  earnest  thought,  and  shrunk  from  philosophy 
as  from  a  churlish  Mentor  who  spoke  a  ■p.  The 
language  harsh  and  discordant  in  their  ears,  ^rds^nd 
These  were  hterary  artists,  word-fanciers,  and  rhetoricians 
rhetoricians,  whose  fluent  speech  and  studied  graces 
won  for  them  oftentimes  a  world-wide  fame,  and  raised 
them  to  wealth  or  dignity,  but  did  not  add  a  single 
thought  to  the  intellectual  capital  of  their  age,  and  left 
behind  no  monument  of  lasting  value. 

They  studied  the  orators  of  earlier  days  to  learn  the 
secrets  of  their  power  ;  but  the  times  were  changed  since 
the  party-strife  of  the  republican  assemblies  had  stirred 
into  intensity  the  statesman's  genius  and  passion.  The 
pleadings  even  of  the  law  courts  were  somewhat  cold  and 
lifeless  when  all  the  graver  cases  were  sent  up  by  appeal 
before  the  Emperor  or  his  servants.  They  tried,  indeed, 
to  throw  themselves  back  into  the  past,  to  re-open  the 
debates  of  history,  and  galvanize  into  spasmodic  life  the 
rigid  skeletons  of  ancient  quarrels.  When  men  grew 
weary  of  these  worn-out  topics,  the  lecturers  had  recourse 
to  paradox  to  quicken  afresh  the  jaded  fancy,  startling 


1 82  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm. 

the  curiosity  by  some  unlooked-for  theme,  writing  pane- 
gyrics on  Fever  and  Baldness,  Dust  and  Smoke,  the  Fly 
even  and  the  Gnat,  or  imagining  ahnost  impossible  con- 
junctures to  test  their  skill  in  casuistry  or  their  fence  of 
subtle  dialectic.  To  others  the  subject  mattered  little. 
Like  the  Isaeus  of  whom  Phny  writes  admiringly,  or  the 
improvisatori  of  a  later  age,  they  left  the  choice  to  the 
audience  who  came  to  hear  them,  and  cared  only  to  dis- 
play the  stock  of  images  with  wh  ch  their  memory  was 
furnished,  their  power  of  graceful  elocution  in  which 
every  tone  or  gesture  had  artistic  value,  or  their  unfailing 
skill  in  handling  all  the  arms  of  logical  debate. 

Sometimes  it  was  a  question  merely  of  the  choice 
of  words.  The  Greeks  commonly  were  faithful  to  the 
purer  models  of  good  style  ;  but  the  Roman  taste,  not 
content  with  the  excellence  of  Cicero  as  approved  by 
Quintilian's  practised  judgment,  mounted  higher  for  its 
standards  of  Latinity,  and  prided  itself  on  its  familiar 
use  of  archaic  words  or  phrases  gleaned  from  Cato  or 
from  Ennius,  The  harmonious  arrangement  of  these 
borrowed  graces  was  in  itself  a  proof  of  eloquence,  and 
poverty  of  thought  and  frigid  feeling  mattered  little,  if  the 
stock  of  such  literary  conceits  was  large  enough. 

Fronto  of  Cirta  passed  for  the  first  orator  of  his  day 
at  Rome,  and  was  honoured  with  the  friendship  of  three 
,.,    ,,  Emperors,  of  whom  the  latest,  Marcus  Aure- 

likc  tronto.      ,.         ,       ,    ,  ,  .  .,  ,  ,       , 

lius,  had  been  his  pupil,  and  was  to  the  last  a 
loving  friend.  When  scholars  heard  early  in  this  cen- 
tury that  the  letters  which  passed  between  the  sove- 
reign and  the  professor  had  been  found  in  a  palimpsest 
under  the  Acts  of  the  Council  of  Chalcedon,  they  were 
full  of  eager  interest  to  read  them ;  but  they  soon  turned 
with  contempt  from  the  tasteless  pedantry  and  tawdiy 
affectation  of  the  style  which  was  then  so  much  in  vogue  at 
Rome.     It  is  curious  to  find  the  rhetorician  speaking  of 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age,     183 

his  favourite  art  as  the  only  serious  study  of  the  age. 
'  For  philosophy/  he  thought, '  no  style  was  needed  ;  no 
laboured  periods  nor  touching  peroration.  The  student's 
intellect  was  scarcely  ruffled  while  the  lecturer  went  dron- 
ing on  in  the  dull  level  of  his  tedious  disquisitions.  Lazy 
assent  or  a  few  hfeless  words  alone  were  needed,  and  the 
audience  might  be  even  half-asleep  while  the  "  firstly " 
and  "secondly"  were  leisurely  set  forth,  and  truisms  dis- 
guised in  learned  phrases.  That  done,  the  learner's  work 
was  over  ;  no  conning  over  tasks  by  night,  no  reciting  or 
declaiming,  no  careful  study  of  the  power  of  synonyms 
or  the  methods  of  translation.'  He  thought  it  mere  pre- 
sumption of  philosophy  to  claim  the  sphere  of  morals  for 
its  special  care.  The  domain  of  rhetoric  was  wide  enough 
to  cover  that  as  well  as  many  another  field  of  thought ; 
her  mission  was  to  touch  the  feelings  and  to  guide  men  by 
persuasive  speech.  For  words  were  something  infinitely 
sacred,  too  precious  to  be  trifled  with  by  any  bungler  in 
the  art  of  speaking.  As  for  the  thoughts,  they  were  not 
likely  to  be  wanting  if  only  the  terms  of  oratory  were 
fitly  chosen.  Yet,  with  all  the  pedant's  vanity,  we  see 
disclosed  to  us  in  his  familiar  letters  an  honest,  true,  and 
simple-minded  man,  who  was  jealous  for  the  honour  of 
his  literary  craft,  who  lived  contentedly  on  scanty  means, 
and  never  abused  his  influence  at  court  to  advance  him- 
self to  wealth  or  honour. 

Few,  like  Fronto,  were  content  to  shine  only  with  the 
lustre  of  their  art.  To  live  a  Sophist's  life  was  a  pro- 
verbial phrase  for  a  career  of  sumptuous  luxury.  To 
turn  from  rhetoric  to  philosophy  was  marked  by  outward 
changes  like  that  to  the  monk's  cowl  from  the  pleasures 
of  the  world.  But  it  was  in  the  Greek  cities  of  the 
Empire  that  they  paraded  their  magnificence  with  most 
assurance,  and  ruled  supreme  over  an  admiring  public. 
Among  the  brilliant  towns  of  Asia  Minor,  which  were  at 


t84  TJie  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  yiii. 

this  time  at  the  climax  of  their  wealth  and  splendour, 
there  flourished  an  art  and  literature  of  fashion,  to  which 
the  Sophists  gave  the  tone  as  authors  and  as  critics. 

At  Smyrna  above  all,  the  sanctuary  of  the  Muses  and 
the  metropolis  of  Asia,  as  it  proudly  styled  itself,  the 
famous  Polemon  lorded  it  without  dispute, 
oemon.  deigning  to  prefer  that  city  for  his  home 
above  the  neighbouring  rivals  for  his  favour.  When 
he  went  abroad,  the  chariot  which  bore  him  was  decked 
with  silver  trappings  and  followed  by  a  long  train  of 
slaves  and  hounds.  So  proud  was  his  self-confidence 
that  he  was  said  to  treat  the  municipalities  as  his 
inferiors,  and  emperors  and  gods  only  as  his  equals. 
Smyrna,  the  city  of  his  choice,  profited  largely  by  the 
reputation  of  its  townsman.  Scholars  flocked  to  it  to 
hear  his  lectures.  Jarring  factions  were  abashed  at  his 
rebuke,  and  forgot  their  quarrels  in  his  eulogies  of  peace. 
Monarchs  honoured  him  with  their  favours,  and  lavished 
their  bounty  on  his  home  :  Hadrian  even  transferred  his 
love  from  Ephesus  to  Smyrna,  and  gave  the  orator  a 
noble  sum  to  beautify  the  queen  of  cities.  His  self-esteem 
was  fully  equal  to  his  great  renown.  When  he  went  to 
Athens,  unlike  the  other  speakers  who  began  with  pane- 
gyrics on  the  illustrious  city,  he  startled  his  hearers  with 
the  words,  *  You  have  the  credit,  men  of  Athens,  of  being 
accomplished  critics  of  good  style  ;  1  shall  soon  see  if 
you  deserve  the  praise.'  A  young  aspirant  of  distinction 
came  once  to  measure  words  with  him,  and  asked  him  to 
name  a  time  for  showing  ofi"  his  powers.  Nothing  loth, 
he  offered  to  speak  offhand,  and  after  hearing  him  the 
stranger  slipped  away  by  night  to  shun  the  confession  of 
defeat.  When  Hadrian  came  to  dedicate  the  stately 
works  with  which  he  had  embellished  Athens,  the 
ceremony  was  not  thought  complete  unless  Polemon  was 
sent  for  to  deliver  a  sort  of  public  sermon  on  the  opening 


cii.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     185 

of  the  temple.  When  death  came  at  last  to  carry  him 
from  the  scene  of  all  his  triumphs,  he  said  to  the  admirers 
who  stood  beside  his  bed,  *  See  that  my  tomb  is  firmly 
closed  upon  me,  that  the  sun  may  not  see  me  at  last 
reduced  to  silence.' 

Ephesus,  meantime,  which  took  the  second  place 
among  the  cities  of  Ionia,  had  brought  Favorinus  from 
his  native  Aries  to  honour  it  with  his  brilliant 
talents.  But  neither  of  the  great  professors 
could  brook  a  rival  near  his  chair,  and  a  war  of  epigrams 
and  angry  words  was  carried  on  between  them,  and  was 
taken  up  with  warmth  by  the  partisans  of  each.  At 
Pergamos,  Aristocles  was  teaching  still,  after  giving  up 
philosophy  and  scandalizing  serious  minds  by  taking  to 
the  theatre  and  other  haunts  of  pleasure.  Each  even  of 
the  lesser  towns  had  its  own  school  of  rhetoric,  and 
its  own  distinguished  Sophist. 

Nor  could  the  intellectual  society  of  Athens  fail  to 
have  its  shining  light  in  all  this  galaxy  of  luminous 
talents.  It  had  its  University,  with  chairs  endowed  by 
government,  and  filled  with  teachers  of  distinction.  But 
it  had  also  a  greater  centre  of  attraction  in  its  own 
H  erodes  Atticus,  who  devoted  his  enormous  Herodes 
wealth,  his  stores  of  learning  and  his  culti-  Atticus. 
vated  tastes,  to  do  honour  to  his  birthplace,  and  make 
her  literary  circles  the  admiration  of  the  educated  world. 
His  father,  who  came  of  an  old  family  at  Athens,  had 
found  a  treasure  in  his  house  so  great  that  he  feared  to 
claim  it  till  he  was  reassured  by  Nerva.  He  used  it  with 
lavish  generosity,  frequently  keeping  open  house ;  and 
at  his  death  nearly  all  the  town  was  in  his  debt.  No 
expense  was  spared  in  the  education  of  his  son,  who 
studied  under  the  first  teachers  of  the  day,  and  made 
such  progress  that  he  was  taken  to  Pannonia  as  a 
youth  to  display  his  powers  of  rhetoric  before  the  Env 


1 86  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm. 

peror  Hadrian.  The  young  student's  vanity  was  damped, 
however,  by  a  signal  failure,  and  he  nearly  drowned  him- 
self in  the  Danube  in  despair.  Returning  home  in 
humbler  mood,  he  gave  himself  once  more  to  study. 
There  and  in  Asia,  where  he  served  as  an  imperial  com- 
missioner, he  amassed  ample  stores  of  learning  and 
formed  his  style  by  intercourse  with  the  greatest  scholars 
of  the  day.  After  some  years  spent  at  Rome,  he  settled 
finally  on  his  own  estates,  and  became  henceforth  the 
central  figure  of  Athenian  society,  which  was  by  general 
consent  the  most  refined  and  cultivated  of  the  age,  and 
the  most  free  from  the  insolent  parade  of  wealth. 

The  most  promising  of  the  students  of  the  University 
were  soon  attracted  to  his  side,  where  they  found  a 
liberal  welcome  and  unfailing  encouragement  and  help. 
Aulus  Gellius  gives  a  pleasant  picture  of  the  studious 
retreat  in  which  he  entertained  them.  *  In  our  college 
life  at  Athens,  H  erodes  Atticus  often  bade  us  come  to 
him.  In  his  country  house  of  Cephissia  we  were  shel- 
tered from  the  burning  heat  of  summer  by  the  shade  ol 
the  vast  groves,  and  the  pleasant  walks  about  the  man- 
sion, whose  cool  site  and  sparkling  basins  made  the  whole 
neighbourhood  resound  with  splashing  waters  and  the 
song  of  birds.'  Here  at  one  time  or  another  came  most 
of  the  scholars  who  were  to  make  a  name  in  the  great 
world,  and  who  were  glad  to  listen  to  the  famous  lecturer. 
A  privileged  few  remained  after  the  audience  had  dis- 
persed, and  were  favoured  with  a  course  of  special  com- 
ments which  were  heard  with  rapt  attention.  Even  the 
applause  so  usual  in  the  Sophists'  lecture  halls  was  then 
suspended. 

But  if  an  orator  of  any  eminence  arrived  at  Athens 
and  wished  to  say  a  word  in  pubhc,  Herodes  came 
with  his  friends  to  do  the  honours  of  the  day,  to  move 
the  vote  of  thanks    to    the    illustrious    stranger,  an^ 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.     187 

to  display  all  his  practised  skill  in  the  tournament  of 
rhetoric.  Not  indeed  that  the  reception  was  so  courteous 
always.  One  Philager  had  the  imprudence  to  write  an 
offensive  letter  to  Herodes  before  he  came  to  Athens. 
On  his  arrival  the  theatre  in  which  he  had  intended  to 
declaim  was  crowded  with  the  admirers  of  the  Athenian 
teacher,  who  had  malicious  pleasure  in  detecting  an  old 
harangue  which  was  passed  off  before  them  as  a  new  one, 
and  hissed  the  poor  Sophist  off  the  stage  when  he  tried 
vainly  to  recover  credit.  Nor  did  the  talents  of  the 
orator  save  him  always  from  a  petty  vanity.  Aristide? 
wished  on  one  occasion  to  deliver  the  Panathenaic  speech  ; 
and  to  disarm  the  opposition  of  his  rival,  whose  jealousy 
he  feared,  he  submitted  to  his  criticism  the  draft  of  a 
weak  and  colourless  address.  But  instead  of  this,  when 
the  day  came  to  deliver  it,  the  actual  speech  proved  to  be 
of  far  higher  merit,  and  Herodes  saw  that  he  was  duped. 

One  special  object  of  his  care  was  purity  of  diction. 
Not  content  with  forming  his  style  upon  the  best  models 
of  the  past,  he  was  known  even  to  consult  upon  nice  points 
of  language  an  old  hermit  who  lived  retired  in  the  heart 
of  Attica.  '  He  lives  in  the  district,'  was  his  explanation, 
*  where  the  purest  Attic  always  has  been  spoken,  and 
where  the  old  race  has  not  been  swept  away  by  strangers.' 
We  may  find  a  curious  illustration  of  his  affectation  of 
archaic  forms  in  the  fact  that  some  of  the  inscriptions  of 
his  monuments  are  written  in  Greek  characters  of  a  much 
earlier  date,  which  seemingly  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
antiquarian  he  was  desirous  to  revive. 

A  like  spirit  of  reverence  for  the  past  is  shown  in  his 
regard  for  the  great  religious  centres  of  Hellenic  hfe. 
Not  content  with  adorning  Athens,  like  Hadrian,  with 
stately  works  of  art,  he  left  the  tokens  of  his  fond  respect 
at  Delphi,  Corinth,  and  Olympia,  where  new  temples  and 
theatres  rose  at  his  expense.     There  were  few  parts  o< 


1 88  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  viii. 

Greece,  indeed,  which  had  not  cause  to  thank  the  magni- 
ficent patron  of  the  arts,  whose  taste  inclined,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  day,  to  the  colossal,  and  was  turned  only 
with  regret  from  the  idea  of  cutting  a  canal  through  the 
Corinthian  Isthmus. 

In  spite  of  all  his  glory  and  his  lavish  oatlay,  the 
Athenians  wearied  of  their  benefactor,  or  powerful 
enemies  at  least  combined  to  crush  him.  Impeached 
before  the  governor  of  the  province  on  charges  of  oppres- 
sion, he  was  sent  to  Sirmium  when  Marcus  Aurelius  was 
busy  with  his  Marcomannic  war.  Faustina  had  been 
prejudiced  against  him,  the  Emperor's  little  son  was  taught 
to  lisp  a  prayer  for  the  Athenians,  and  the  great  orator, 
broken  down  by  bereavement  and  ingratitude,  refused  to 
exert  his  eloquence  in  his  own  behalf,  and  broke  out  even 
into  bitter  words  as  he  abruptly  left  his  sovereign's  pre- 
sence. But  no  charges  could  be  proved  against  him, 
and  the  Emperor  was  not  the  man  to  deal  harshly  with 
his  old  friend  for  a  hasty  word. 

Among  the  visitors  at  Cephissia,  in  the  circle 
gathered  round  Herodes,  probably  was  Apuleius,  who  had 
left  Carthage  to  carry  on  his  studies  in  the 
lecture  rooms  and  libraries  of  Athens.  Phi- 
losopher and  pietist,  poet,  romanticist,  and  rhetorician, 
he  was  an  apt  example  of  the  manysidedness  of  the 
sophistic  training,  as  it  was  then  spread  universally 
throughout  the  Roman  Empire.  He  is  a  curious  illustra- 
tion of  the  social  characteristics  of  the  age,  combining  as 
he  does  in  his  own  person,  and  expressing  in  his  varied 
works,  most  of  the  moral  and  religious  tendencies  which 
are  singly  found  elsewhere  in  other  writers  of  these  times. 
1°.  There  is  no  originality  of  thought  or  style.  In  every 
work  we  trace  the  influence  of  Greek  models.  His  cele- 
brated novel  of  the  Transformation  of  a  Man  into  an 
Ass  is  based  upon  a  tale  which  is  also  found  in  Lucian  ; 


CH.  viii.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age,     189 

the  stirring  incidents  of  comedy  or  tragic  pathos  which 
are  so  strangely  interspersed,  the  description  of  the  robber 
band,  the  thrilHng  horrors  of  the  magic  art,  the  licentious 
gallantries  therein  described,  are  freely  taken  rom  the 
Greek  romances  which  he  found  ready  to  his  hand  in 
many  of  the  countries  where  he  travelled.  Even  the 
beautiful  legend  of  Cupid  and  of  Psyche,  which  hes  em- 
bedded like  a  pure  vein  of  gold  in  the  coarser  strata  of 
his  fiction,  is  an  allegoric  fancy  which  belongs  to  a  purer 
and  a  nobler  mind  than  his.  The  style  indeed  is  more 
attractive  than  that  of  any  of  the  few  Latin  writers  of  his 
age,  for  Apuleius  had  a  poet's  fancy,  and  could  pass  with 
ease  from  grave  to  gay  ;  but  the  author  is  overweighted 
by  his  learning,  and  spoils  the  merit  of  his  diction  by 
ill-adapted  archaisms  and  tawdry  ornaments  of  preten- 
tious rhetoric. 

2°.  In  him,  as  in  the  literature  of  the  times,  there 
is  none  of  the  natural  simplicity  of  perfect  art,  but  a 
constant  striving  for  effect  and  a  parade  of  ingenuity, 
as  if  to  challenge  the  applause  of  lecture-rooms  in  a 
society  of  mutual  admiration.  One  of  his  works  consists 
of  the  choice  passages,  the  lively  openings  or  touching 
perorations,  gleaned  from  a  number  of  such  public  lec- 
tures, to  serve,  it  may  be,  as  a  sort  of  commonplace-book 
for  the  beginner's  use. 

3°.  As  a  religious  philosopher  he  illustrates  the 
eclectic  spirit  then  so  common.  From  the  theories  of 
Plato  he  accepted  the  faith  in  a  Supreme  Being  and  an 
immortal  soul;  but  instead  of  the  types  or  ideas  of  the 
Greek  sage,  the  unseen  world  was  peopled  by  the  fancy 
of  Apuleius  with  an  infinite  hierarchy  of  demon  agencies, 
going  to  and  fro  among  the  ways  of  men,  startling  them 
with  phantom  shapes,  but  making  themselves  at  times 
the  ministers  of  human  will  under  the  influence  of  magic 
arts  and  incantations. 


1 90  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.         ch.  vm 

4°.  We  find  in  him  a  curious  blending  of  mocking 
insight  and  of  mystic  dread.  He  vividly  expresses  in 
the  pages  of  his  novel  the  imposture  and  the  licence  of 
the  priestly  charlatans  who  travelled  through  the  world 
making  capital  out  of  the  timorous  credulity  of  the 
devout.  Yet  except  Aristides  no  educated  mind  that 
we  read  of  in  that  age  was  more  intensely  mastered  by 
superstitious  hopes  and  fears.  The  mysteries  of  all  the 
ancient  creeds  have  a  powerful  attraction  for  his  fancy  ; 
he  is  eager  to  be  admitted  to  the  holy  rites,  and  to  pass 
within  the  veil  which  hides  the  secrets  from  the  eyes  of 
the  profane.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  fervour  of  his  en- 
thusiastic sentiment  when  he  speaks  of  the  revelation  of 
the  spirit  world  disclosed  in  the  sacred  forms  before  his 
kindling  fancy. 

5®.  Finally,  in  his  case  we  have  brought  vividly  before 
our  minds  the  difference  between  devotion  and  morality. 
The  sensuality  of  heathendom  is  reflected  for  our  study  in 
many  a  lascivious  and  disgusting  page  of  Apuleius  ;  and 
though  he  speaks  of  the  chastity  and  self-denial  needed  for 
the  pious  votary  to  draw  near  to  the  God  whom  he  adores, 
yet  the  abstinence  must  have  been  perfunctory  indeed 
in  one  whose  fancy  could  at  times  run  riot  in  images  so 
foul  and  lewd  as  to  revolt  every  pure-minded  reader. 

We  have  seen  that  the  scholars  of  the  times  were 
almost  wholly  living  on  the  intellectual  capital  of  former 
ages  ;  in  rhetoric  and  history,  in  rehgion  and  philosophy, 
they  were  looking  to  the  past  for  guidance,  and  renewing 
the  old  jealousies  of  rival  studies.  In  the  credulous  and 
manysided  mind  of  Apuleius  all  the  literary  currents 
flowed  on  peacefully  together  side"by  side ;  but  in  Lucian 
we  may  note  the  culture  of  the  age  breaking  all  the  idols 
of  its  adoration  and  losing  eveiy  trace  of  faith  and 
earnestness  and  self-respect. 

The  great  satirist  of  Samosata  was  a  Syrian  by  birth, 


CH.  VIII.     The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.    191 

though  his  genius  and  language  were  purely  Greek. 
Apprenticed  early  to  a  sculptor,  he  soon  laid  down  the 
carver's  tools  to  devote  himself  to  letters,  and  . 

making  little  progress  at  the  bar  of  Antioch, 
took  to  the  Sophist's  wandering  life,  and,  like  the  others 
of  his  trade,  courted  the  applause  of  idle  crowds  by  formal 
panegyrics  on  the  Parrot  or  the  Fly.  In  middle  life  he 
grew  wearied  of  such  frivolous  pursuits,  and  finding 
another  literary  vein  more  suited  to  his  talents,  composed 
the  many  dialogues  and  essays  in  which  all  the  forms  of 
thought  and  faith  and  social  fashion  pass  before  us  in  a 
long  procession,  each  in  turn  to  be  stripped  of  its  show 
of  dignity  and  grace. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  expose  the  follies  of  the 
legendary  tales  of  early  Greece,  and  many  a  writer  had 
already  tried  to  show  that  such  artless  imaginings  of 
childlike  fancy  were  hopelessly  at  war  with  all  moral 
codes  and  earnest  thought.  But  it  was  left  for  Lucian 
to  deal  with  them  in  a  tone  of  entire  indifference,  without 
a  trace  of  passion  or  excitement,  or  spirit  of  avowed 
attack.  The  gods  and  goddesses  of  old  Olympus  come 
foi-ward  in  his  dialogues  without  the  flowing  draperies  of 
poetic  forms  which  half  disguised  the  unloveliness  of 
many  a  fancy ;  they  talk  to  each  other  of  their  vanities 
and  passions  simply  and  frankly,  without  reserve  or 
shame,  till  the  creations  of  a  nation's  childhood,  brought 
down  from  the  realms  of  fairyland  to  the  realities  of 
common  life,  seem  utterly  revolting  in  the  nudities  of 
homely  prose. 

Nor  had  Lucian  more  respect  for  the  motley  forms 
of  eastern  worship  to  which  the  public  mind  had  lately 
turned  in  its  strong  need  of  something  to  adore.  He 
painted  in  his  works  the  moods  of  credulous  sentiment 
which  sought  for  new  sources  of  spiritual  comfort  in  the 
glow  and  mystery  and  excitement  of  those  exotic  rites ; 


192  The  Age  of  the  Antomnes.         ch.  vin. 

he  described  in  lively  terms  the  consternation  of  the 
deities  of  Greece  when  they  found  their  council  chamber 
thronged  by  the  grotesque  brotherhood  of  unfamiliar 
shapes,  finding  a  voice  at  last  in  the  protests  of  Momus, 
who  came  forward  to  resist  their  claims  to  equality  with 
the  immortals  of  Olympus.  'Attis  and  Corybas  and 
Sabazius,  and  the  Median  Mithras,  who  does  not  know  a 
word  of  Greek  and  can  make  no  answer  when  his  health 
is  drunk,  these  are  bad  enough  ;  still  they  could  be  en- 
dured ;  but  that  Egyptian  there,  swathed  like  a  mummy, 
with  a  dog's  head  on  his  shoulders,  what  claim  has  he, 
when  he  barks,  to  be  listened  to  as  a  god  ?  What 
means  yon  dappled  bull  of  Memphis,  with  his  oracles 
and  train  of  priests?  I  should  be  ashamed  to  tell  of 
all  the  ibises,  apes,  and  goats,  and  thousand  deities  still 
more  absurd,  with  which  the  Egyptians  have  deluged  us; 
and  1  cannot  understand,  my  friends,  how  you  can  bear 
to  have  them  honoured  as  much  as,  or  more  even  than 
yourselves.  And,  Jupiter,  how  can  you  let  them  hang 
those  ram's  horns  on  your  head  ? '  Momus  is  reminded 
that  these  are  mysterious  emblems,  which  an  ignorant 
outsider  must  not  mock  at,  and  he  readily  admits  that 
in  those  times  only  the  initiated  could  distinguish  between 
a  monster  and  a  god. 

Lucian's  banter  did  not  flow  from  any  deeper  source  of 
faith  in  a  religion  purer  than  those  bastard  forms  of  idol 
worship.  He  was  entirely  sceptical  and  unimpassioned, 
and  the  unseen  world  was  to  his  thoughts  animated  by 
no  higher  life,  nor  might  man  look  for  anything  beyond 
the  grave.  His  attacks  upon  the  established  faith  were 
far  from  being  carried  on  in  the  spirit  of  a  philosophic 
propaganda.  He  was  unsparing  in  his  mockery  of  the 
would-be  sages  who  talked  so  grandly  of  the  contempt 
for  riches  and  for  glory,  of  following  Honour  as  their  only 
guitie,  of  keeping  anger  within  bounds,  and  treating  the 


CH.  vTii.    The  Literary  Currents  of  the  Age.      [93 

great  ones  of  the  earth  as  equals,  and  who  yet  must  have 
a  fee  for  every  lesson,  and  do  homage  to  the  rich,  '  They 
are  greedy  of  filthy  lucre,  more  passionate  than  dogs, 
more  cowardly  than  hares,  more  lascivious  than  asses, 
more  thievish  than  cats,  more  quarrelsome  than  cocks.' 
He  describes  at  length  the  indignities  to  which  they  are 
willing  to  submit  as  domestic  moralists  in  the  service  of 
stingy  and  illiterate  patrons,  or  in  the  train  of  some 
fine  lady  who  likes  to  show  at  times  her  cultivated 
tastes,  but  degrades  her  spiritual  adviser  to  the  company 
of  waiting  maids  and  insolent  pages,  or  even  asks  him  to 
devote  his  care  to  the  confinement  of  her  favourite  dog, 
and  to  the  litter  soon  to  be  expected.  One  by  one  they 
pass  before  us  in  his  pages,  the  several  types  of 
militant  philosophy, — the  popular  lecturer,  the  court 
confessor,  the  public  missionary  in  Cynic  dress,  the 
would-be  prophets,  and  the  wonder-mongers,  astrologers, 
and  charlatans  all  crowding  to  join  the  ranks  of  a 
profession  where  the  only  needful  stock  in  trade  was  a 
staff,  a  mantle,  and  a  wallet,  with  ready  impudence  and 
fluent  tongue. 

Was  Lucian  concerned  for  the  good  name  of  the 
earnest  thinkers  of  old  time,  the  founders  of  the  great 
schools  of  thought,  whose  dogmas  were  parodied  by 
these  impostors  1  Not  so  indeed.  The  old  historic  names 
appear  before  us  in  his  auction  scene  ;  but  the  paltry 
biddings  made  for  each  show  how  he  underrated  them, 
and  in  his  pictures  of  the  realms  of  the  departed  spirits 
all  the  high  professions  of  the  famous  morahsts  of  Greece 
did  not  raise  them  above  an  ignominious  want  of  dignity 
and  courage. 

Thus  with  mocking  irony  the  scoffer  rang  out  the 
funeral  knell  of  the  creeds  and  systems  of  the  ancient 
world.  Genius  and  heroism,  high  faith  and  earnest 
thought,  seemed  one  by  one  to  turn  to  dust  and  ashes 

A.  H.  O 


194  The  Age  of  the  Antof lines.  ch.  ix. 

under  the  solvent  of  his  merciless  wit.  Religion  was  a 
mere  syllabus  of  old  wives'  fables  or  a  creaking  machinery 
of  supernatural  terrors  ;  philosophy  was  an  airy  unreality 
of  metaphysic  cobwebs ;  enthusiasm  was  the  disguise  of 
knaves  and  badge  of  dupes  ;  life  was  an  ignoble  scramble 
uncheered  by  any  rays  of  higher  light  and  unredeemed 
by  any  faith  or  hope  from  a  despairing  self-contempt. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE  ADMINISTRATIVE   FORMS  OF  THE   IMPERIAL 
GOVERNMENT. 

The  imperial  ruler  governed  with  unqualified  authority. 
No  checks  or  balances  or  constitutional  safeguards  were 
The  im-  provided  by  the  theory  of  the  state,  and  the 

penal  ruler  venerable  forms  which  lingered  on  existed 
absolute  mainly  by  his  sufferance.  The  Curule  offices 
sovereign,  remained  only  as  part  of  the  showy  ceremonial 
of  the  life  of  Rome,  but  with  no  substantial  power.  The 
senate  met  to  help  the  monarch  with  their  counsels,  or  to 
register  his  decrees  in  formal  shapes  ;  but  the  reins  had 
passed  entirely  from  their  hands.  The  local  liberties 
throughout  the  provinces  were  little  meddled  with,  and 
municipal  self-rule  provoked,  as  yet,  no  jealousy  ;  but  it 
might  be  set  aside  at  any  moment  by  a  Caesar's  will,  or 
its  machinery  abused  as  an  engine  of  oppression.  Mean- 
time, however,  the  transition  from  the  unsystematic 
forms  of  the  Republic  was  only  slowly  going  on,  and  the 
agents  of  the  central  government  were  few  compared 
with  those  of  the  widespread  bureaucracy  of  later  days. 
The  imperial  household  had  been  organized  at  first 


CH,  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  195 

like  that  of  any  Roman  noble.    Educated  slaves  or  freed- 
men,  commonly  of  Greek  extraction,  wrote  the  letters, 
kept  the  books,  or   managed  the  accounts  in  wealthy 
houses,  and  filled  a  great  variety  of  posts,  partly  menial, 
partly  confidential.     In  default   of  ministers     an^his 
of  state  and  public  functionaries  of  tried  ex-     ministers 
perience,  the  early  Emperors  had  used  their     firerWs  owm 
own  domestic  servants  to  multiply  their  eyes     domestics, 
and  ears  and  hands  for  the  multitudinous  business  to  be 
transacted.     Weak  rulers  had  been  often  tools  in  the 
hands  of  their  own  insolent  freedmen,  who  made  colossal 
fortunes  by  working  on  their  master's  fears  or  selling  his 
favour  to  the  highest  bidder. 

But  the  Emperors  of  the  second  century  were  too 
strong  and  self-contained  to  stoop  to  the  meanness  of 
such  backstairs  intrigue,  and  we  hear  little  in 

1-1  r     ■,  •    .  .r.  /-I  though 

their  days  of  the  smister  mfluence  of  the  afterwards 
imperial  freedmen.  But  the  offices  which  ^*^"*g^'s. 
they  had  filled  in  direct  attendance  on  the  ruler  were 
raised  in  seeming  dignity,  though  shorn  perhaps  of 
actual  power,  when  Hadrian  placed  in  them  knights  who 
might  aspire  to  rise  higher  on  the  ladder  of  promotion. 
Of  such  posts  there  were  four  of  special  trust  and  con- 
fidence. 

1°    First    came   the  office   of   the   Privy    Purse   (a 
rationibus),   which   controlled  all  the   accounts   of  the 
sovereign's  revenues,  and  of  the  income  of  the     The  most 
Fiscus.     The  poet  Statius  describes  in  lofty    1,7^2"^ 
style  the  importance  and  variety  of  the  cares     were 
which  thus  devolved  upon  a  powerful  freed-    rationibus 
man   who  held  the  post  for  several  reigns,     (treasurer.) 
*  The  produce  of  Iberian  gold  mines,  of  the  Egyptian 
harvests,  of  the  pearl-fisheries  of  the  Eastern  seas,  of  the 
flocks  of  Tarentum,  of  the  transparent  crystal  made  in 
Alexandrian  factories,  of  the  forests  of  Numidia,  of  the 
o  2 


tg6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

ivory  of  India,  whatever  the  winds  waft  from  every 
quarter  into  port — all  is  entrusted  to  his  single  care. 
The  outgoings  are  also  his  concern.  The  suppHes  of  all 
the  armies  pass  daily  through  his  hands,  the  necessary 
sums  to  stock  the  granaries  of  Rome,  to  build  aqueducts 
and  temples,  to  deck  the  palaces  of  Caesar,  and  to  keep 
the  mints  at  work.  He  has  scant  time  for  sleep  or  food, 
none  for  social  intercourse,  and  pleasure  is  a  stranger  to 
his  thoughts.' 

2°.  The  prince's  Secretary  (ab  epistulis)  required  of 
course  a  high   degree  of  literary  skill,  as  well  as  the 
°  Ab  powers  of  an  accomplished  penman.    *  He 

epistulis  has,'  says  the  same  poet  of  another  freedman, 
(secretary).  <  ^^  speed  the  missives  of  the  monarch  through 
the  worlds  to  guide  the  march  of  armies,  to  receive  the 
glad  news  of  victory  from  the  Rhine,  the  Danube,  the 
Euphrates,  from  the  remotest  lands  of  Thule,  whither  the 
conquering  eagles  have  already  made  their  way.  His 
hand  prepares  the  officers'  commissions,  and  lets  men 
know  who  have  gained  the  post  of  centurion  or  tribune. 
He  has  to  ask  if  the  waters  of  the  Nile  have  risen  high 
enough  for  a  good  harvest,  if  rain  has  fallen  in  Africa, 
and  to  make  a  thousand  like  enquiries  ;  not  I  sis,  nor 
Mercury  himself,  has  so  many  messages  of  moment.'  In 
later  days  there  were  two  departments  of  the  office,  for 
the  language  of  Greece  and  for  that  of  Italy.  The 
former  of  the  two  was  coveted  by  the  most  famous  scholars 
of  the  age,  and  was  looked  upon  as  the  natural  reward  for 
purity  of  style  and  critical  discernment.  It  led  in  time  to 
the  higher  rank  and  the  substantial  emoluments  of  office. 
3°.  It  was  the  duty  of  another  minister  (a  libellis),  to 
open  the  petitions  or  complaints  intended  for  his  master's 
3°.  a   .  ear,  and  probably  to  make  abstracts  of  their 

(deJk^f         contents.     If  we  may  trust  Seneca's  account 
petitions).        the  duties  were  arduous  enough,  since  Polybius, 


CH.  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  197 

who  discharged  them,  had  little  time  to  nurse  his  private 
sorrows.  '  Thou  hast  so  many  thousand  men  to  hear,  so 
many  memorials  to  set  in  order.  To  lay  such  a  mass  of 
business,  that  flows  in  from  the  wide  world,  in  fitting 
method  before  the  eyes  of  thy  great  prince,  thou  must 
have  thyself  unfaltering  courage.  Thou  must  not  weep, 
for  thou  hast  so  many  weeping  petitioners  to  hear.  To 
dry  the  tears  of  so  many  who  are  in  danger,  and  would 
fain  win  their  way  to  the  mercy  of  thy  gracious  Caesar, 
thou  must  needs  dry  thine  own  eyes  first.' 

4°.  The  Chamberlains  often  attained  to  large  in- 
fluence by  their  talents  and  address  ;  but  there  seemed 
something  menial  in  the  duties  of  the  office,  o  ^  ^ubi- 
which  was  therefore  filled  by  slaves  or  freed-  cuio  (cham- 
men,  though,  as  the  court  adopted  more  of  the  *  ^°  * 
sentiment  and  language  of  the  East,  the  overseer  of  the 
sacred  bedchamber  (praspositus  sacri  cubiculi)  filled  a 
larger  place  in  pubHc  thought,  and  gained  at  times  com- 
plete ascendancy  over  a  weak  or  vicious  monarch,  like 
the  mayors  of  the  palace  over  puppet  kings  in  France. 

Of  far  higher  social  dignity  were  the  official  friends 
of  Caesar  (amici  Caesaris),  the  notables  of  Rome  who  were 
honoured  with  his  confidence,  and  called  on    The  Privy 
for   advice  as  members  of  a  sort  of  Privy    (aSia"^ 
Council  or  Consistory,  which  met  in  varying    Cjesaris). 
numbers  at  the  discretion  of  the  prince,  to  debate  with 
him  on  the  affairs  of  state.     It  was  an  old  custom  with 
great  Roman  nobles  to  divide  their  friends  according  to 
gradations  of  their  rank  and  influence.     The  Emperor's 
court  was  formed  on  the  same  model,  and  it  was  of  no 
slight  moment  to  the  aspirant  after  honours  to  be  ranked 
in  one  or  other  of  the  two  great  privileged  classes.     Out 
of  these  were  chosen  the  companions  (comites,  counts) 
of  the  prince  in  all  his  travels,  who  journeyed  with  him 
at  his  cost,  and  were  entertained  by  him  at  his  table. 


[98  The  Age  of  the  Antonines,  ch.  ix. 

In  the  first  century  the  rank  had  proved  a  dangerous 
eminence.  With  moody  and  suspicious  tyrants,  a  word, 
a  look,  had  proved  enough  to  hurl  the  courtier  from  his 
post  of  honour.  But  in  the  period  before  us  the  lot  was 
a  far  happier  one.  The  Privy  Councillors  were  treated 
with  a  marked  respect,  and  by  the  Antonines  at  least 
they  were  not  burdened  with  the  duties  of  personal  at- 
tendance on  the  prince,  or  the  mere  etiquette  of  social 
intercourse,  save  when  the  business  of  state  required 
their  presence.  At  last  the  term  became  a  purely 
honorary  title,  and  the  great  functionaries  throughout 
the  empire  were  styled  the  friends  or  counts  of  Cassar. 

The  imperial  officers  were  not  appointed,  like  the 
ministers  of  state  in  modern  times,  to  great  departments, 
such  as  War,  the  Home  Office,  the  Exchequer  ;  but  each 
held  a  fraction  of  delegated  power  within  local  limits 
carefully  prescribed.  The  city  of  Rome,  the  prince's 
bodyguard,  the  urban  watch,  a  province  or  an  army, 
were  put  under  the  command  of  officers  who  looked 
only  to  the  Emperor  for  orders.  Two  of  these  posts 
towered  high  above  the  rest  in  dignity  and  trust. 

(r)  The  Praefect  of  the  City  represented  the  Emperor 
in  his  absence,  and  maintained  civil  order  in  the  capital. 
The  Praefect  The  policc  of  Rome  lay  wholly  in  his  sphere 
of  the  City,  ^f  competence,  with  summary  powers  to 
proceed  against  slaves;  or  disturbers  of  the  peace,  out 
of  which  grew  gradually  the  functions  of  a  High  Court  of 
Criminal  Jurisdiction. 

(2)  The  Praefect  of  the  Praetorian  solders  was  at  first 
only  the  commander  of  the  few  thousand  household 
ThePrsefect  troops  who  scrved  as  the  garrison  of  Rome. 
PrSorian  While  the  Icgious  were  far  away  upon  the 
Guards.  frontier,  the  temper  of  the  Praetorians  was  of 

vital  moment,  and  the  Prsefects  might  and  did  dispose  of 
the  safety  of  a  throne.     Sometimes  their  loyalty  seemed 


cH.  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  199 

to  be  secured  by  boons  and  honours,  or  by  marriage  ties; 
sometimes  two  were  named  together,  to  balance  each 
other  by  their  rivalries  ;  but  they  were  always  dangerous 
to  their  master,  till  in  the  fourth  century  the  power  of 
the  sword  was  wholly  taken  from  them  and  lodged  in 
the  hands  of  separate  commanders.  Already  the  great- 
est jurists  of  the  day  had  been  appointed  to  the  office, 
to  replace  the  Emperor  on  the  seat  of  justice,  and  it 
became  at  last  the  supreme  court  of  appeal  in  civil  juris- 
diction. 

The  whole  of  the  Roman  empire,  save  Italy  alone,  was 
divided  into  provinces,  and  in  each  the  central  govern- 
ment was  represented  by  a  ruler  sent  from  Rome.  For 
the  peaceful  lands  long  since  annexed,  where  .^^^ 
no  armed  force  was  needed,  a  governor  Provincial 
(proconsul  or  propraetor)  was  chosen  by  the  ovemors, 
senate,  in  whose  name  the  country  was  administered. 
For  border  lands,  or  others  where  there  was  any  danger 
of  turbulence  or  civil  feud,  a  lieutenant  (legatus)  of  the 
Emperor  ruled  in  his  master's  name,  and  held  the  power 
of  the  sword.  There  were  doubtless  cases  still  of  cruelty 
and  greed;  but  the  worst  abuses  of  republican  misgovern 
ment  had  been  long  since  swept  away.  The  prince  01 
his  councillors  kept  strict  watch  and  ward,  and  sharply 
called  offenders  to  account ;  the  provincial  notables 
sat  in  the  imperial  senate,  in  which  every  real  grievance 
could  find  a  champion  and  a  hearing.  There  was  a  finan- 
cial agent  (procurator)  of  the  sovereign  in  each  country, 
ready  to  note  and  to  report  all  treasonable  action  ; 
despatches  travelled  rapidly  by  special  posts  organized 
by  the  government  along  the  great  highways.  The  armed 
force  was  seldom  lodged  in  the  hands  of  civil  rulers ;  the 
payment  of  fixed  salaries  for  office  made  indirect  gains 
seem  far  less  venial ;  and  the  old  sentiment  was  gone  that 
the  world  was  governed  in  the  interest  of  Rome  or  of  its 


20O  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

nobles.  The  responsibilities  of  power  raised  the  tone  of 
many  of  the  rulers,  and  moral  qualities  which  had 
languished  in  the  stifling  air  of  the  great  city  flourished 
on  the  seat  of  justice  before  the  eyes  of  subject  peoples. 

A  certain  court  or  retinue  followed  each  governor  to 
his  province,  some  of  which  received  a  definite  sanction 
and  a  salary  from  the  state.  There  were  trusted  intimates 
on  whose  experience  or  energy  he  might  rely,  trained  jurists 
and  their  to  act  as  assessors  in  the  courts,  and  to  guide 
suite.  jjjg  judgment  on  nice  points   of  law,  young 

nobles  eager  to  see  life  in  foreign  lands,  literary  men  to 
amuse  his  leisure  moments  on  the  journey,  or  to  help  in 
drafting  his  despatches,  practised  accountants  for 
financial  business,  surveyors  or  architects  for  public 
works,  together  with  personal  attendants  to  minister  to 
their  master's  wants.  None  of  these,  save  perhaps  the 
notaries  (scribas),  were  permanent  officials,  and  their 
number  on  the  whole  was  small,  and  quite  dispropor- 
tionate to  the  size  and  population  of  the  province.  For 
the  agents  of  the  central  government  were  few,  and  local 
liberties  were  still  respected,  though  there  were  ominous 
signs  of  coming  changes. 

The  imperial  rulers  had  shown  little  jealousy  as  yet 
of  municipal  self-rule,  and  almost  every  town  was  a  unit 
Local  of  free-life,  with  many  administrative  forms  of 

magistrates  local  gro\vth  Still  Undisturbed.  Magistrates 
were  elected  year  by  year  in  each  ;  town  councils  formed 
of  leading  citizens  and  ex-officials  ruled  all  concerns  oi 
public  interest ;  general  assemblies  of  the  townsmen  met 
from  time  to  time,  and  took  an  active  part  in  the  details 
of  civic  life,  long  after  the  comitia  of  Rome  were 
silenced.  Nor  were  these  merely  idle  forms  which  dis- 
guised the  reality  of  servitude.  Men  still  found  scope  for 
active  energy  in  managing  the  affairs  of  their  own  towns ; 
they  still  saw  prizes  for  a  passionate   ambition   in  the 


CH.  IX,  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  201 

places  and  the  honours  which  their  fellow-countrymen 
could  give. 

We  have  only  to  follow  the  career  of  some  of  the  lead- 
ing provincials  of  the  age,  we  have  only  to  turn  over  the 
copies  of  the  numerous  inscriptions  left  on  stone  01 
bronze,  to  see  how  much  remained  in  outward  show  at 
least,  of  the  old  forms  of  republican  activity,  and  local 
A  H  erodes  Atticus  could  still  be  a  command-  freedom, 
ing  figure  in  the  life  of  Greece :  a  Dion  Chrysostom 
could  find  occasion  for  his  eloquence  in  soothing  the 
passions  of  assemblies  and  reconciUng  the  feuds  of  neigh- 
bouring cities.  No  sacrifices  seemed  too  costly  for  the 
wealthy  who  wished  to  be  dignitaries  in  their  native 
boroughs.  To  gain  a  year  or  two  of  office  they  spent 
vast  sums  in  building  libraries  or  aqueducts,  or  baths,  or 
schools,  or  temples,  squandering  sometimes  a  fortune  in 
the  extravagant  magnificence  of  largesses  or  shows. 
They  disputed  with  each  other  not  only  for  the  office  of 
duumvir  or  of  aedile,  but  for  honorary  votes  of  every 
kind,  for  precedence  at  the  theatres,  for  statues  whose 
heads  were  to  be  presently  replaced  with  those  of  other 
men,  for  a  flattering  inscription  even  on  the  building 
which  the  city  had  accepted  at  their  hands. 

But  if  we  look  below  the  siuface,  and  listen  to 
moralists  like  Plutarch,  who  best  reflect  the  social 
features  of  provincial  life,  we  may  have  cause  to  think 
that  public  spirit  was  growing  fainter  every  day,  and  that 
the  securities  for  freedom  and  self-rule  were  very  few. 

(i)  Rome  was  the  real  centre  of  attraction  as  of  old, 
the  aim  of  all  ambitious  hopes.    Local  distinc- 
tions  were   a  natural    stepping-stone    to    a    guarantees 
place  in  the  Senate  or  the  Privy  Council,  and    ^^^Yn^e  as 
employments  else  of  little  worth  found  a  value    illustrated 
as  the  lowest  rounds  of  a  ladder  of  promotion,      ^ 
pn  which  none  could  mount  hig^h  until  they  had  made  a 


202  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  en.  ix, 

name  at  Rome.  Men  of  good  old  families  dropped  their 
ancestral  titles  and  latinized  their  names  to  pass  as 
descendants  of  the  conquerors  of  the  world.  In  a  spirit 
(i)The  mu-  of  flattery  and  mean  compliance,  the  municipal 
cluned'^^  authorities  abridged  with  their  own  hands 
interference,  their  ancient  freedom,  tore  up  their  old  tra- 
ditional charters,  consulted  the  governor  at  every  turn, 
and  laid  humbly  at  his  feet  the  reins  of  power. 

Of  such  unconscious  traitors  Plutarch  speaks  with 
just  severity.  He  reminds  his  readers  that  the  invalids 
who  have  been  wont  to  bathe  and  eat  only  at  the 
bidding  of  their  doctor,  soon  lose  the  healthy  enjoyment 
of  their  strength  ;  and  so  too  those  who  would  appeal  to 
Caesar  or  his  servants  in  every  detail  of  public  life,  find 
to  their  cost  that  they  are  masters  of  themselves  no 
longer  ;  they  degrade  senate,  magistrates,  courts,  and 
people,  and  reduce  their  country  to  a  state  of  impotent 
and  debasing  servitude. 

He  would  have  them  cherish  no  illusions,  and  give 
themselves  no  airs  of  independence,  for  real  power  had 
passed  out  of  their  hands  ;  but  it  was  needless  folly  to 
seem  to  court  oppression,  or  to  appear  incapable  of  using 
the  liberties  which  still  remained.  For  these  lasted  on  by 
sufferance  only,  and  had  no  guarantees  of  permanence  ; 
the  old  federal  leagues  had  passed  away,  and  there  was 
no  bond  of  union  between  the  cities  save  the  tie  of 
loyalty  to  the  Emperor  at  Rome.  As  units  of  free  hfe, 
linked  to  each  other  by  some  system  of  provincial 
parliaments,  they  might  have  given  effective  utterance  to 
the  people's  will,  and  have  formed  organized  centres  of 
resistance  to  oppression,  but  such  assemblies  can  be 
hardly  traced,  save  here  and  there  in  feeble  forms,  and 
the  imperial  mechanism  was  brought  to  bear  directly  on 
a  number  of  weak  and  isolated  atoms. 


cii.  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  203 

(2)  The  proconsuls  or  lieutenants  of  C?csar  grew  impa- 
tient of  any  show  of  independence  or  any  variety  of  local 
usage.     Not  content  with  the  maintenance  of    ^^^  ^j^^ 
peace  and  order,    and  with  guarding  the  in-     governors 

^  \  -i  1T1       •         11       began  to 

terests  of  state,  they  began  to  meddle  m  all  meddle 
the  details  of  civic  life.  A  street-riot,  or  a  °^°''^' 
financial  crisis,  or  an  architect's  mistake  in  public  works, 
was  excuse  enough  for  superseding  lower  powers,  and 
changing  the  whole  machinery  of  local  politics.  Some- 
times immunities  were  swept  away,  and  old  customs  set 
aside  by  self-willed  rulers  greedy  of  extended  power, 
ignorant  even  of  the  language  of  the  subject  peoples,  and 
careless  of  the  associations  of  the  past.  Sometimes  con- 
scientious men  like  Pliny,  who  rose  above  sinister  or 
selfish  aims,  would  interpose  in  the  interests  of  symmetry 
and  order,  or  wished  to  prove  their  loyalty  and  zeal  by 
carrying  out  their  master's  plans  with  scant  regard  for 
old  privileges  or  historic  methods. 

(3)  The  imperial  system  was  one  of  personal  rule, 
and  the  stronger  and   more   self-contained  the    Cassai 
on  the  throne,  the  more  was  he  tempted  to         ^^  ^^^ 
make  his  government  felt  in  every  depart-     Caesar  on 
ment  of  his  power.     The  second  century  was     ^^  more* 
the   asre  of  able  and  untiring  rulers,  whose     and  more 

,.  ,     .  -    ,     .         .  ,        appealed  to. 

activity  was  felt  m  every  part  of  their  wide 
empire.  The  ministers  who  knew  the  temper  of  their 
sovereigns  appealed  to  them  in  every  case  of  doubt,  and 
the  imperial  posts  along  the  great  high  roads  were  kept 
in  constant  work  with  the  despatches  which  went  to  and 
fro  between  every  province  and  the  centre.  From 
distant  Bithynia  came  Pliny's  questions  about  a  bath, 
a  guild  of  firemen,  the  choice  of  a  surveyor,  or  the  status 
of  a  runaway  slave  who  had  enlisted  in  the  army ;  and 
Trajan  thought   it  needful  to    write   special  letters   to 


204  The  Age  of  the  Antonines.  ch.  ix. 

forbid  a  couple  of  soldiers  being  shifted  from  their  post 
or  to  sanction  the  removal  of  a  dead  man's  ashes. 

Under  cautious  princes  like  the  Antonines  the  effects  of 
an  absolutism  so  unqualified  were  for  a  time  disguised ; 
but  the  evils  of  misgovernment,  which  in  the  last  century 
had  been  mainly  felt  at  Rome,  might  now,  as  the  empire 
grew  more  centralized,  be  known  in  every  land.  They 
were  not  hid  from  the  eyes  of  Plutarch,  who  preferring 
as  he  does  monarchic  rule  to  every  other  social  form, 
and  looking  on  the  sovereign  as  the  representative  of 
heaven  on  earth,  yet  insists  on  the  grave  danger  to  the 
world  if  the  prince  has  not  learnt  the  lessons  of  self- 
mastery.  '  He  should  be  like  the  sun,  which  moves  most 
slowly  when  it  attains  its  highest  elevation.' 

We  shall  better  understand  the  perils  of  the  system 
then  adopted  if  we  look  forward  to  some  of 
evils  of  a        the  actual  evils  of  the  centralized  monarchy 
later  age.        of  the  later  empire. 

1°.  The  sums  which  flowed  into  the  treasury  at  Rome 
seem  to  have  been  still  moderate,  if  compared  with  the 
1°  The  ^^^*  extent  of  her  dominions,  and  the  wealth  of 

pressure  of  many  of  the  subject  lands.  Much  of  the  ex- 
^^ '°°'  pense  of  government  fell  upon  the  local  re- 
sources of  the  towns,  which  had  their  own  domains,  or 
levied  special  taxes  for  the  purpose  ;  but  the  rest  may  be 
brought  under  three  heads,  (i)  that  of  the  pay  and  pen- 
sions for  the  soldiers  of  the  legions,  (2)  of  the  largesses  of 
corn  or  money,  and  (3)  of  the  prince's  civil  hst,  includ- 
ing the  charges  of  his  household  and  the  salaries  of  pubhc 
servants.  The  first  and  second  varied  liitle  in  amount ; 
there  were  few  changes  in  the  number  of  troops  or  the 
expenses  of  the  service  save  in  crises  like  the  Dacian  or 
Marcomannic  war  ;  at  Rome  the  recipients  of  corn  were 
kept  at  nearly  the  same  figure,  and  it  was  dangerous  to 
peglect  the  imperial  bounties  to  the  populace  of  the  great 


CH.  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  205 

towns.  The  third  was  the  division  in  which  a  thrifty  ruler 
might  retrench,  or  a  prodigal  exhaust  his  coffers  by  ex- 
travagance. The  question  was  one  of  personal  economy 
or  self-indulgence,  for  the  civil  servants  were  not  many, 
and  their  salaries  as  yet  formed  no  great  item  in  the 
budget.  It  was  by  the  wantonness  of  insolent  caprices 
that  tyrants  such  as  Caligula  or  Nero  drained  their 
treasuries,  and  were  driven  to  refill  them  by  rapine  or 
judicial  murder.  But  while  they  struck  at  wealthy 
victims  they  spared  the  masses  of  the  people,  and  it 
was  left  to  an  unselfish  ruler  like  Vespasian  to  face  the 
outcry  and  the  indignation  caused  by  a  heavier  system  of 
taxation. 

In  general  the  empire  had,  in  that  respect  at  least, 
been  a  boon  to  the  whole  Roman  world,  for  it  had  re- 
placed the  licence  and  extortion  of  provincial  moderate  at 
governors  and  farmers  of  the  tithes  by  a  ^''^'' 
system  of  definite  tariff  and  control.  The  land-tax  levied! 
in  every  country  beyond  Italy  had  taken  commonly  the 
form  of  a  tithe  or  fraction  of  the  produce,  farmed  by 
middlemen  (publicani),  and  collected  by  their  agents, 
who  were  often  unscrupulous  and  venal.  It  was  a  method 
wasteful  to  the  state  and  oppressive  to  the  subjects,  and 
full  of  inequalities  and  seeming  hardships.  The  first 
step  taken  by  Augustus  was  to  carry  out  a  general  survey 
of  the  empire  as  a  needful  condition  of  a  fairer  distribu- 
tion of  the  burdens  ;  another  was  to  control  the  licence 
of  the  publicans  by  a  financial  agent  in  each  province, 
holding  a  commission  directly  from  the  prince. 

Further  steps  were  gradually  taken,  and  by  the  time 
of  Marcus  Aurelius  the  system  of  middlemen  was  swept 
away.  Tithes  were  not  levied  as  before  in  kind,  but  a  land- 
tax  (tributum  soli)  of  uniform  pressure  took  their  place. 
Italy  had  long  enjoyed  immunities  under  the  RepubHc, 
when   she  lived   upon   the   plunder  of    th<»  world ;   but 


2o6  The  Age  of  the  Antonines  ch.  ix. 

custom-duties  (portoria)  were  imposed  on  her  by  the 
first  Caesar,  and  tolls  at  the  markets  (centesima  rerum 
venalium)  by  Augustus,  while  succession  duties  (vicesima 
hereditatum)  were  levied  in  the  course  of  the  same  reign 
in  spite  of  the  indignant  outcry  of  the  wealthier  Romans. 
These  or  their  equivalents  under  other  names  were  the 
chief  sources  of  revenue,  to  which  we  have  to  add  the 
lands  and  mines  which  passed  into  the  imperial  domains 
as  the  heritage  of  the  state  or  of  the  royal  houses  of  the 
provinces,  together  with  the  proceeds  of  legacies  and 
confiscations. , 

There  was  no  large  margin,  it  would  seem,  for  per- 
sonal extravagance  or  a  social  crisis ;  but  the  Antonines 
became  were  happily  of  frugal  habits,  and  one  of  them, 

gradually  as  we  have  seen,  parted  with  the  heirlooms  of 
more  tn-  the  palace  rather  than  lay  fresh  burdens  on 
tense.  j^^g  people.     Future  rulers  were  less  scrupu- 

lous than  they.  The  brilliancy  of  personal  display,  the 
costly  splendours  borrowed  from  the  Eastern  courts,  the 
charge  of  a  rapidly  increasing  civil  service,  the  corruption 
of  the  agents  of  the  treasury,  the  pensions  paid  to  the 
barbarian  leaders — these  and  other  causes  led  to  a 
steady  drain  upon  the  exchequer  which  it  was  harder  every 
year  to  keep  supplied.  Fresh  dues  and  tolls  of  various 
kinds  were  frequently  imposed ;  the  burdens  on  the  land 
grew  more  oppressive  as  the  prosperity  of  the  wealth- 
producing  classes  waned,  till  at  last  a  chorus  of  many 
voices  rises  to  deplore  the  general  misery  caused  by  the 
pressure  of  taxation,  the  insolence  of  the  collectors  in 
the  towns,  the  despair  of  the  poor  artisans  when  the 
poll-tax  is  demanded,  parents  selling  their  children  into 
slavery,  women  driven  to  a  life  of  shame,  landowners 
flying  from  the  exhausted  fields  to  take  refuge  even  with 
barbarian  peoples,  and  all  the  signs  of  universal  bank- 
ruptcy. 


;h.  rx 


Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  207 


2°.    The    administrative    system    gradually    became 
more  bureaucratic  and  more  rigidly  oppressive.     In  early 
days  the  permanent  civil  servants  of  the  state    2°.  The 
were  few  in  number.     At  Rome  we  read  of    bu^T  °* 
notaries   or  accountants   (scribse),  of  javelin     cracy 
men    (lictores),    and    ushers   (apparitores)    in   personal 
attendance  on  the  magistrates.     These  were  seemingly 
allowed  to  form   themselves    in    guilds    in   defence  oi 
their  professional  rights,  and  gained  a  sort  of  vested 
interest  in  their  office,  which  could  at  times  be  even 
bought  or  sold. 

But  their  number  and  importance  was  not  great.  We 
have  little  evidence  of  like  classes  in  the  provinces, 
and  the  governor's  suite  went  out  and  returned  with  him 
as  his  own  friends  or  retainers,  while  doubtless  servile 
labour  was  largely  used  upon  the  spot. 

Such  a  practice  was  too  rude  and  immature  to  last 
long  after  the  activity  of  the  central  government  became 
more  intense.     In  the  course  of  time,  there- 
fore, the  whole  character  of  such  official  work     ed  by  op- 
was     changed ;     the    accountants    and    the    ^t^JtSons'^on 
writers  rapidly  increased  in  number  as   the    the  Civil 
business  grew  upon  their  hands,  and  the  state 
secured  its  servants  a  professional  status.     This,  stiange 
to  say,  was  called  a  military  service  (militia) ;  many  of 
the  grades  of  rank  adopted  in   different  stages  of  em- 
ployment were  borrowed  from  the  army  ;  a  certain  uni- 
form was  worn  at  last,  and  commissions  were  made  out  in 
the  Emperor's  name,  while  a  sort  of  martial  discipline 
was   observed   in   the  bureaux  (scrinia).     Honours  and 
privileges  and  illustrious  names  were  given  to  the  heads 
of  the  official  hierarchy  ;  but  the  state  began  to  tighten 
its  grasp  upon  its  agents,  to  require   a  long    period  of 
service,  to  refuse  permission  to  retire  until  a  substitute 
was  found,  io   force  the  children  to  learn  their  fathers' 


2o8  The  Age  of  the  Antoninesi.  ch.  ix. 

craft  and  step  one  day  into  their  places,  till  the  whole 
civil  service  gradually  became  one  large  official  caste,  in 
which  each  generation  was  bound  to  a  lifelong  servitude, 
disguised  under  imposing  names  and  military  forms. 

3°.  A  like  series    of  changes  may  be   traced  in  a 

higher  social  order.     In   all  the  lands   through  which 

„  „    .        Greek  or  Italian  influence  had  spread,  some 

3°.  Mum-  -  •!  1       -I        •         -1 

cipai  sort  of  town-council  had  existed  as  a  necessary 

be^me^  element  of  civic  life.     The  municipal  laws  of 

onerous  the  first  Csesars  defined  the  functions  of  this 

order  (ordo  decurionum,  curia),  which  like  the 
Roman  Senate  was  composed  of  ex-officials,  or  other 
citizens  of  dignity  and  wealth. 

For  a  century  or  more,  while  the  tide  of  public  hfe 
flowed  strongly  in  the  provinces,  the  status  of  a  councillor 
(decurio,  curialis)  was  prized,  and  leading  men  spent 
time  and  money  freely  in  the  service  of  their  fellows. 
As  the  empire  grew  more  centralized,  local  distinctions 
were  less  prized,  and  we  find  in  the  inscriptions  fewer 
names  of  patriots  willing,  Hke  H  erodes  Atticus,  to  enrich 
their  native  cities  with  the  monuments  of  their  lavish 
bounty.  As  municipal  honours  were  less  valued,  the  old 
relation  was  inverted,  and  the  councillors  had  to  fill  in 
turn  the  public  offices,  which  instead  of  dignities  were 
felt  to  be  oppressive  burdens. 

By  the  time  of  Trajan  we  find  the  traces  of  unwilling- 
ness to  serve,  and  in  the  reign  of  Marcus  Aurelius  the 
reluctance  had  grown  already  more  intense.  The  sophist 
Aristides  tells  us  frankly  of  his  eagerness  to  escape  from 
civic  charges,  how  he  wept  and  fasted,  prayed  and 
pleaded  to  his  gods,  till  he  saw  the  vision  of  white  maids 
who  came  to  set  him  free,  and  found  the  dream  was 
followed  by  imperial  despatches  which  contained  the 
dispensation  so  much  longed  for. 

The  central  government,  in  its  concern,  devised  more 


CH.  IX.  A  dmi7iistrative  Forms  of  Government,  209 

marks  of  honour  and  distinction  ;  but  still  men  grew  less 
willing  to  wear  the  gilded  chains,  for  the  responsibilities 
of  office  grew  more  weighty.  The  order  of  decuriones  had 
not  only  to  meet  as  it  best  could  the  local  needs,  but  to 
raise  the  imperial  taxes,  to  provide  for  the  commissariat 
of  the  armies,  and  keep  the  people  in  good  humour  by  spec- 
tacles and  corn  and  grants  of  money.  Men  sought  to  quit 
their  homes  and  part  with  their  estates,  and  hoard  as  best 
they  could  the  proceeds  of  the  sale,  if  only  they  could  free 
themselves  from  public  duties.  But  still  the  state  pursued 
them  with  its  claims ;  the  service  of  the  councillors 
became  a  charge  on  landed  property,  the  citizen  of  means 
was  a  functionary  who  might  not  quit  his  post.  He 
might  not  sell  his  fields,  for  the  treasury  had  a  lien  on 
them  ;  he  might  not  travel  at  his  ease,  for  that  would  be 
a  waste  of  public  time  ;  he  might  not  live  unmarried,  for 
his  duty  was  to  provide  children  to  succeed  him  when  he 
died;  be  might  not  even  take  Holy  Orders  when  he 
would,  for  folks  of  narrow  means  were  good  enough  for 
that,  but  'he  must  stay  in  the  bosom  of  his  native 
country,  and,  like  the  minister  of  holy  things,  go  through 
the  ceaseless  round  of  solemn  service.' 

In  their  despair  the  decuriones  try  to  fly,  but  they  are 
hunted  down  without  compunction.  Their  names  are 
posted  in  the  proclamations  with  runaways  and  criminals 
of  the  lowest  class  ;  they  are  tracked  even  to  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  churches,  to  the  mines  and  quarries  where 
they  seek  a  shelter,  to  the  lowest  haunts  of  the  most  de- 
graded outcasts.  In  spite  of  all  such  measures  their 
numbers  dwindled  constantly,  and  had  to  be  recruited, 
while  land  was  given  to  the  newly  enrolled  to  qualify 
them  for  the  duties  of  the  service.  Still  the  cry  was  for 
more  to  fill  the  vacant  offices  of  state,  and  the  press-gang 
gathered  in  fresh  tax-gatherers— for  they  were  little  more 
— from  every  class.     The  veteran's  son,  if  weak  or  idlC; 

A.  H.  P 


210  The  Age  oj  the  Antonines.  cii.  ix 

the  coward  who  had  mutilated  himself  to  be  unfit  for 
soldiers'  work,  the  deacon  who  had  unfrocked  himself  or 
been  degraded — all  were  good  enough  for  this — the 
priestly  gambler  even,  who  had  been  counted  hopeless 
and  excommunicate,  and  who  was  declared  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  an  evil  spirit,  was  sent  not  to  a  hospital  but  tc 
the  airia. 

4°.  The  same  tendencies  were  at  work  meantime  on 
every  side  in  other  social  grades,  for  in  wellnigh  all  alike 
Q  the  imperial  system  first  interfered  with  healthy 

andin^  ^  energy  by  its  centralised  machinery,  dis- 
beSm^e  couraged    industry   by    heavy   burdens,   and 

hereditary  then  appealed  to  force  to  keep  men  to  the 
taskwork  which  they  shunned.  Its  earlier 
rulers  had  indeed  favoured  the  growth  of  trade  and  the 
development  of  industry,  had  respected  the  dignity  of  the 
labour  of  free  artisans,  and  fostered  the  growth  of  guilds 
and  corporations  which  gave  the  sense  of  mutual  pro- 
tection and  of  self-respect  to  the  classes  among  which 
they  sprung.  Bounties  and  privileges  were  granted  to 
many  of  such  unions,  which  specially  existed  for  the 
service  of  the  state,  for  the  carrying  trade  of  Roman 
markets,  or  the  labours  of  the  post,  the  arsenals,  the 
docks. 

Over  these  the  control  became  gradually  more  strin- 
gent as  the  spur  of  self-interest  ceased  to  prompt  the 
workers  to  continued  effort.  Men  must  be  chained,  like 
galley  slaves  if  need  be,  to  their  work,  rather  than  the 
well-being  of  society  should  suffer,  or  government  be  dis- 
credited in  vital  points.  The  principle  adopted  in  their 
case  was  extended  to  many  other  forms  of  industry 
which  languished  from  the  effects  of  high  taxation  or 
unwise  restrictions^  and  were  likely  to  be  deserted  in 
despair.  In  the  rural  districts  also  sturdy  amis  must  be 
kept  to  the  labours  of  the  field,  lest  the  towns  be  starved 


CH.  IX.  Administrative  Forms  of  Government.  21  r 

by  their  neglect  ;  peasants  must  not  be  allowed  to  roam  at 
will,  or  betake  themselves  to  other  work,  but  be  tied  to 
the  fields  they  cultivated  in  a  state  of  villeinage  or  serf- 
dom. The  armies  could  not  safely  be  exposed  to  the 
chances  of  volunteer  recruits ;  but  the  landowners  must 
provide  their  quota,  or  the  veterans  bring  up  their  chil- 
dren in  the  camp,  or  military  colonies  be  planted  on  the 
frontier  with  the  obligation  of  perpetual  service. 

So,  high  and  low,  through  every  grade  of  social  status, 
the  tyranny  of  a  despotic  government  was  felt.  It  drained 
the  life-blood  from  the  heart  of  every  social  organism  ; 
it  cut  at  the  roots  of  public  spirit  and  of  patriotic  pride, 
and  dried  up  the  natural  sources  of  unselfish  effort.  And 
then,  in  self-defence,  it  chained  men  to  their  work,  and 
made  each  department  of  the  public  service  a  sort  of 
convict  labour  in  an  hereditary  caste. 

But  the  toil  of  slaves  is  but  a  sorry  substitute  for  the 
enlightened  industry  of  freemen ;  and  the  empire  grew 
poorer  as  its  liberties  were  cramped.  It  grew  weaker 
also  in  its  energies  of  self-defence,  for  when  the  bar- 
barians knocked  loudest  at  the  gates,  instead  of  the 
strong  cohesion  of  a  multitude  of  centres  of  free  life 
bound  to  each  other  by  a  thousand  interlacing  sym- 
pathies, they  found  before  them  only  towns  and  villages 
standing  alone  in  helpless  isolation,  and  vainly  looking 
round  them  for  defence,  while  the  central  mechanism 
was  sadly  out  of  gear. 

The  imperial  Colossus  seemingly  had  dwindled  to  an 
morganic  group  of  crumbling  atoms. 


INDEX. 


ADONIS,  162 
■**•_  Aelia  Capitolina,  72 
Agri  decumates,  ■26 
Agricola,  Calpuniius,  95 
Akiba,  72 
Alcantara,  15 

Alexander  the  grammarian.  115 
Alexandria,  57,  108.  177 
Algeria,  52 
Altinum,  98 
Ancona,  16 
Anio,  17 
Antimachus,  64 
Anlinous,  57 

Antioch,  41,  44,  52,  89,  107.  191 
Antoninus,  Marcus,   78.  80^129, 

137,  144,  205 
Antoninus,  Pius,  68,  70,  73-80,  150 
Antonlus,  Marcus,  41 
Apamea,  24 
Apis,  57 

Apollodorus,  36,  65.  65 
Apollonius,  78,  114 
Apologists,  147 
Appian  Road,  15 
Apuleius,  188-190 
Aqua  Marcia,  17 
Aquae  (Baden-Baden),  26 
Aquileia,  97,  101 
Arabia,  46 
Arbela,  45 

Aristides,  108,  160,  187,  190.  jo8 
Aristocles,  185 
Armenia,  40,  42,  88 
Arrian,  56,  65,  171 
Artaxata,  90 
Arval  Brothers,  151-6 
Asklepios  [yEsculapiusi.  t6o 
Assyria,  46 


Athens,  37,  40,  41,  55,  177,  184,  1 

Attica,  187 

Attis,  192 

Augustan  history,  writers  of,  148 

Augu.stus,  II,  24,   27,   60,   70,   I 

150,  158,  205 
Aulus  Gellius,  186 
Aurelius,  M.,  vide  Antoninus 
Avidius  Cassius,  88.  90,  103-7 

OABYLON,  46 
■*-'     Bacchanalia,  158 
Baiae,  70 
Barchochebas,  72 
Belgrade,  30 
Beneventum,  i3 
Bether,  73 
Bithynia,  135,  20  j 
Blandina,  143 
Brigantes,  76 
Britain,  51,  53,  95 
Bructeri,  25 


pALEDONIA,  9s 
^^     Caligula,  70,  155 
Calpurnius,  v.  AgTicol;« 
Capitoline,  the,  36 
Cappadocia,  56 
Carlisle,  53 
Camac,  56 
Carpathians,  the,  35 
Carrhae,  41 
Cassius,  V.  Avidiut 
Cassius,  V.  Dion 
Catacombs,  the,  lart^  138 
Cato,  63,  77,  iCvi 
Olsus,  14s 


214 


Index. 


Centumcellae,  i6 

Cephalonia,  55 

Cephissia,  186 

Chaeroneia,  177 

Chaldaia,  47 

China,  90 

Chrestus,  130 

Christian  Church,  the,  129-149,  164, 

180 
Cicero,  64,  i8a 
Cilicia,  47 
Cladova,  33 
Claudius,  54,  130 
Clemens,  135 
Clyde,  the,  95 
Colchis,  78 
Collegia,  151 
Comnndus,  110,  12S 
Como,  20 

Constantine,  36,  37 
Constantius,  38 
Cornelius  Palma,  62 
Corybas,  192 
Crassus,  41 
Ctesiphon,  46,  47,  90 
Curius,  "jj 

Cynic,  picture  of,  172 
Cyprus,  46,  71 
Cyrenaica,  46 
Czemetz,  33 

P)ACIAN  WAR.  28-35 

■^-^     Dacians.  27 

Dante,  49 

Danube,  the,  26-8,  76,  95 

Daphne,  42,  89 

Decebalus,  27,  2S,  30,  32 

Decuriones,  208 

Diocletian,  no 

Diognetus,  114 

Dion  Cassius,  8,  29,  33,  48,  102,  1 10, 

128 
Dion  Chrysostom,  5,  174-7 
Dniester,  95 

Domitian,  i,  7,  25,  135,  175 
Domitilla,  1^5 
Drusus,  27 

PDESSA,  46 
■'-'     Egypt,  21,  46,  57,  161 
Eleusinian  mysteries,  108 
Ennius,  64,  182 
Ephesus,  185 
Epictetus,  i'4,  170-4 
Epiphanes.  44 


Euphrates,  ^i,  46,  55.  88,  go,  96 


FAUSTINA,  wife  of  Antoninur. 
P.,  75  . 
Faustina,  wife  of  M.  Aurelim^  8 

92,  107-8,  127,  188 
Faustinianse,  109 
Favorinus,  63,  185 
Flavian  dynasty,  156 
Flonis,  65 
Forth,  Forth  of,  95 
Fronto,  81,  86,  91,  114,  182 


riALEN,  98 

^■^    Germania  of  Tadtus,  ag 

Germany,  25,  52 

Getas,  27 

Gnostics,  147 

Gordian,  152 

Goths,  71 

Gregory  the  Great,  49 


I_r  ADRIAN,  28,  49-73,  138    t^9 
J^i     184,  195 
Hatszeger  Thai,  31 
Helvidius,  4 
Hermannstadt,  34 
Herodes  Atticus,  185,  208 
Hormisdas,  38 
Hydaspes,  the,  41 


TLLYRIA,  96 
^     India,  46 
Irenaeus,  138 
Iron  Gates,  the,  34 
Isseus,  182 
Isis,  158,  162,  196 


JEROME,  73 

J      Jews,  71-3,  76,  129 

Julian,  126 

Julianus  Salvius,  60,  65 

Julius  Caesar,  24 

Julius  Severus,  72 

Junius,  V.  Rusticus 

Justin  Martyr,  138,  149 


T   AMB^SIS,  52 

*-'     Licinius  Sura,  ix,  afi 

Logos,  the,  148 


Index. 


215 


Longinus,  33 
Lorium,  77,  85 
Lucian,  144,  190-3 
Lucilla,  90 
Lugdunum,  142,  163 
Lupercalia,  151 
Lusiiis  Quietus,  30,  62 


IVT^SIA,  27,  33 

••■'•*•     Mainz,  27 

Marcomanni,  96,  100 

Mausoleum  of  Augustus,  7 

Mausoleum  of  Hadrian,  71 

Maximus,  115 

Memnon's  statue,  56 

Memphis,  192 

Mithras,  192 

Momus,  192 

Moors,  i!:e,  51,  7^,  q^ 


]SJ  ERO,  43,  70,  99.  13T 
■^  ^      Narva,  1-7 
Newcastle,  53 
Nicaea,  23 
Nicomedia,  23 
Nineveh,  46 


QGRADINA,  30 

^^     Origen,  145  , 

Orontes,  the,  44 

Orsova,  30 

Ostia,  16 

Oxus,  the,  41 

PALESTINE,  46,  71 

-*■      Palma,  v.  Cornelius,  62 

Panathenaic  Speech,  187 

Pannonia,  2^,  33,  50,  109 

Parthamasins,  42-3 

Parthian  War,  under  Trajan    407  ; 

under  M.  Aurelius,  88-91 
Parthians,  the,  32 
Peregrinus  Proteus   144 
Persia,  45 
Phidias,  67,  160 
Philager,  187 
Plirygian  Mother,  163 
Placentia,  18 

Plato,  80,  110,  119,  148,  i3o 
Pliny,  3,  13,  16,  20,  21,  48,  133.  203 
Plotma,  9,  14,  50 


Plutarch,  159,  177-181,  20^! 
Polemon,  78,  184 
Polybius,  196 
Polycarp,  141-2 
Polycletus,  67 
Pompeianus,  126 
Pompeius  Magnus,  133 
Pomponia  Graicina,  13c 
Ponticus,  143 
Pontine  Mjirshes,  15 
Poppaea,  131 
Pothinus,  143 
Praefect  of  the  City,  ipB 
Praefect  of  the  Praetorians,  198 
Prusa,  23,  175,  177 
Ptolemies,  the,  57 
Ptolemy,  16 


QUADI,  97,  102 
Quietus,  V.  Lusioff 
'    Quintilian,  182 
Quirinal,  'he,  ^6 

PAVENNA,  103 
•*^^    Rhine,  25,  76 
Rimini,  ^2 
Roumanians,  36 
Rusticus,  83,  93,  114,  149 

CABAZIUS,  192 

"^    Sabina,  56 

Salii/  81,  151 

Salvius  Jfulianus,  60,  65 

Samosata,  190 

Sargetia,  34 

Sarmatians,  iii 

Sarmizegethusa,  31 

Save,  the,  29 

Segestica,  29 

Seleucia,  41,  46,  90 

Selinus,  47 

Seneca,  196 

Serapis,  57,  158 

Servianus,  50,  6x3 

Severus,  Julius,  72 

Sextus,  115 

Sibylline  books,  157 

Sirmium,  109,  188 

S^rjTna,  78,  io3,  141,  161,  tftj 

Socrates,  148,  16-7 

Sophists,  167 

Spain,  80 

Statins  the  Poet,  13? 


2l6 


Index. 


Statius  Priscus,  90 
Stoics,  the.  86  122-?,  t7i 
Strabo,  a^ 
Suetonius,  130 
Suez,  Isthmus  of,  16 
Sura,  V.  Licinius 
Susa,  46 
Syria,  38,  41,  50 


•TTACITUS,  5,  as,  95.  131 
-*■      Tapae,  31 
Taurobolium,  163 
TauruSj  108 
Tertulhan,  137,  138 
Thracians,  the,  27 
Thule,  196 
Tiberius,  27,  130 
Tibur,  villa  at,  66 
Tierna,  30 
Tigranes,  41 
Tigris,  the,  A", 
Tiridates,  43 
Titus,  46,  71 

Trajan,  7-4^,  136,  177,  aoa 
Transylvania,  28,  31 
Trapezus,  56 
Troy,  55 


Turks,  the,  41 
Tum-Severin,  33 


^LPIA  TRAJANA,  «o 


YENICE,,49 
^      Verginius  Rufus,  2 
Verus,  /Elius,  68,  84 
Verus,  Lucius,  87,  88-91,  97,  98,  ro4 
Verus,  M.  Annius,  t/.  M.  Antommig, 

80 
Vespasian,  12,  25,  205 
Vienna  in  Gaul,  142 
Vienna  in  Germany,  t 
Viminacium,  30 
Volcan  Pass,  34 


■y^ALLACKS,  ths,  33.  jr, 


yANTEN,20 
•^^-    Xiphilinus,  ioj 


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Edinburgh  and  London 


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